


Thank You Fics

by sabrecmc



Category: Avengers: Age of Ultron - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Tony, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Bonding, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Hooker Tony Stark (sort of), Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, King Tony Stark, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Omega Steve, Omega Steve Rogers, Pining Steve Rogers, Pining Tony Stark, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitute Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Rimming, Royalty, Steve Rogers Feels, Stuck in a Cabin, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Feels, Top Steve Rogers, Top Tony, Top Tony Stark, hooker steve, post-age of ultron, soulbond, soulmark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 110,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To celebrate reaching a milestone in followers, I offered to write some thank you fics.  Not surprisingly, most of my followers asked for smut.  There is some other stuff here though, I promise.</p><p>1:  Prison!AU<br/>2:  Soulbond!AU<br/>3:  Post-AoU Established Relationship Make-Up Sex<br/>4:  Steve POV from This Is Not a Drill (A/B/O)<br/>5:  Steve, the Surprise Bottom<br/>6:  Interlude between A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Oblivion and Shattered<br/>7:   Hurt Steve who is hiding it + Stuck in a Cabin<br/>8:   Bonus Chapter for Gift With Purchase Remix(hooker!Steve)<br/>9:   De-Serumed Steve + Protective!Tony<br/>10:  Hooker!Tony (sort of) + Identity Porn (sort of)<br/>11:  Fanart for Chapter 7 by musicalluna<br/>12:  NSFW  Fanart for Chapter 3 by RosBlues<br/>13:  Fanart for Chapter 8 by Superfizz<br/>14:  Fanart for Chapter 10 by maxkennedy24<br/>15:  Coda for A Higher Form of War Part I<br/>16:  Coda Part II<br/>17:  Art for Ch 9<br/>18:  NSFW art for Ch 8<br/>19:  GwPR Bonus Bonus<br/>20:  Art  for AHFoW<br/>21:  Tony's POV to Ch 7<br/>22:  Pin-Ups<br/>23:  NSFW art for Ch 19<br/>24:  Frequency AU<br/>25:  Fanart for Frequency<br/>26:  Fanart for Hurt Steve</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prison AU

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ради искусства](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544253) by [Riru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riru/pseuds/Riru), [WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018/pseuds/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018)



> I tumblr. Kind of. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sabrecmc
> 
> It is mostly Stony and me complaining about writing. Who could resist that???
> 
> If any of these entertain you, a comment or a kudos is hugely appreciated.

Thirty-six more days.  Thirty-six. 

That was all he’d had left before he was due to be out of here.  Good behavior. 

Good behavior.  _Christ_.

Steve closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the thin, flat pillow as the cell door clanged shut.  The guard, Hoskins, Steve’s mind supplied, tapped on one of the bars with his nightstick.  “Lights out in twenty, boys,” Hoskins muttered, then shuffled off, keys jingling against his belt.  It was a sound that was supposed to signal going somewhere, metal rattling against metal when Bucky dug them out of his pocket and held them up in invitation, but now, hell, probably for the rest of his life, it would mean something being taken away. 

He stared up at the rusted trails that mapped the bottom of the top bunk.  Someone had carved “Leo was here—1997” into the tan paint.  Someone else had scratched over that and traced out, “Fuck you Leo” next to it. 

Steve looked over at the calendar taped to the wall.  It featured pictures of horses running through meadows and splashing down beaches and was two years out of date, so he always had to recalculate the days.  You could forget in here, if you weren’t careful.  Lose track.  Or just stop caring.  What did it matter if it was Monday or Thursday, except that the Thursday lunch had cornbread, and Monday’s was whatever was leftover from Friday because the supply trucks didn’t deliver on the weekends. 

Still, he’d used his fingernail to crease each square on the calendar as he counted down the days, watching as horses racing across deserts became horses trundling through the snow then running through a green, flower-filled meadow.  Somewhere along the line, he’d gone from finding them nearly offensively ridiculous to having some sort of odd affection for them.  He’d never spent much time around animals, having gone right from high school into the Army, but he sometimes found himself thinking that maybe, after he got out of here and finished his probation, well.  Maybe he’d see about working on a ranch.  Stupid.  So fucking stupid, Rogers, he thought grimly, then realized he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the horses or what had happened.

Thirty-six more days.  Barely over a month. 

“You don’t even like me,” Tony’s dull voice came from the bunk above him. 

Steve scrubbed his hand over his face a few times, a burst of anger flaring behind his eyes.  “You’re a billionaire, genius, playboy philanthropist.  What’s not to like?” Steve asked with a flash of annoyance.  It wasn’t fair, he knew, to blame Tony, though God if it wasn’t easy enough to want to do.  Stark had a way of making it seem like it was all about him, and, fuck, maybe it was.  Those guys, that hadn’t been some random attempt to take advantage of an opportunity, Steve was almost certain of it.   “Doesn’t mean I was going to just let them…just let that happen.”

“Guess they backed each other up, huh?” Tony asked, though Steve knew perfectly well that Tony already knew the answer to that question. Steve’s absence the past ten days was all the response that was needed.  “Look, I’ll talk to the warden.  Doyle’s an idiot and an utter asshole, but he’ll have to at least listen to—“

“I told you to keep out of it.  No one knows you were involved, and Mac and his boys sure as hell aren’t going to volunteer that information, so just keep your mouth shut.  For once.  If that is humanly possible for you,” Steve breathed out, suddenly exhausted.  Ten days of solitary would do that to you.  Surprising how tiring sitting around twenty-three hours a day could be. 

“When I get out of here…when I find out who is behind this—all of this---the weapons thing, this shitty prison and its surveillance system that seems to only be faulty when it’s convenient.  I was never supposed to be here, you know that.  I mean, Jesus fuck, what hell was I paying a dozen lawyers twelve-hundred bucks an hour for?“  Tony began, the familiar refrain of what he was going to do once he got out of here echoing like a drumbeat in Steve’s head.

“It was Stane,” Steve said wearily, for what he figured was probably the fiftieth time.   He’d listened to Tony’s tale of woe so many times now that he could recite it himself.  It had been a big deal when Stark had shown up at the prison.  A celebrity inmate wasn’t an everyday occurrence, not here anyway.  This wasn’t exactly one of the Club Feds, after all.  But, even billionaire, genius, playboy philanthropists could find themselves in hot water if they allowed their company to sell weapons to terrorists.  Turns out, the government frowns on that. 

Tony’s litany cut off abruptly, a heavy silence falling in its place. 

“It was Stane.  God, Tony, how can you be so--It was Stane, and he’s going to try again. He won’t use Mac.  It’ll be someone else, but he’ll try,” Steve replied, hearing the frustration in his own voice.  They’d had this argument so many times, he felt like it was on loop, like if he could just find a cassette recorder, he could push play and go to sleep.  “Look, you have to careful.  We’ve been over this, Tony.  Why can’t you just admit—“

“Right, because you’re all about honesty, Rogers.  I’ve seen your service record.  The thing practically glowed red, white and blue,” Tony ground out as his head appeared over the edge of the bunk above Steve’s, dark hair close-cropped now, face clean shaven.  Steve could still remember the man who had shown up that first day, impeccably trimmed goatee and perfectly styled hair, looking bewildered and hiding his utter terror behind a grin and too many fast words. 

“How did you see my record?” Steve demanded, pushing himself up on his elbows. 

“You think I can’t get around a fucking McAfee firewall?  Fifty thousand dollars says Doyle downloaded the free version and pocketed whatever money was allocated for internet security, the cheap bastard.  Anyway, point being, you really want to talk about admitting things?  Because I’m sure the donkey party serving of narcotics they found in your barracks at Bragg had fuck-all to do with your one and only visitor who just happens to be sans arm and strung out tighter than a—“

“Shut up, Stark!” Steve barked, too loudly. 

“Yeah, shut up, Stark!” came the answering call from the cell next door. 

“Shut the fuck up, Stark!” he heard Decker shout from down the hall.  Tony’s mouth flattened into a thin line as he shot Steve an annoyed look.  Steve rolled his eyes, but shook his head slightly in apology. 

“Hey, how about all of you shut the fuck up!” Hoskins shouted over the cellblock’s intercom.  “Lights out.  You can thank Stark for your extra beauty rest.”  A general chorus of grumbling ensured, but the lights clicked off a moment later and it died down.  The glow from the guard station and the muted hallway lights illuminated the cell.  It was never truly dark here, the idea of lights out being something of a euphemism in a prison where darkness meant risk. 

Steve had a soldier’s ability to fall asleep most anywhere, but he knew from experience that this was one part of incarceration to which Tony had never quite adjusted.  He said his mind couldn’t shut down when it was so bright, though Steve suspected it was just one on the long list of things that Tony couldn’t control that discomfited the man in some way, like the quirk about being handed things, though apparently Steve had managed to rise to the lofty position of Taker of Things in Tony’s eyes.  Steve wondered briefly how Tony had eaten the past ten days with no one to take his food tray and hand it to him, then tramped down on the urge to ask. 

 _Fuck you, Leo_ , he thought bitterly, turning his head just enough so he could stare at the horse frolicking on the grassy meadow. 

“I do like you, Tony,” Steve heard himself say into the faux darkness without really meaning to.  Thirty-six days.  It had been so damn close. 

There was a long pause, and he wondered if for once, Tony had actually beat him to sleep.  “Go to sleep, Shawshank,” Tony whispered from above.

Steve looked over at the calendar again before letting his eyes drift shut.  He could see the indentations counting down date squares in his head.  Thirty-six days until he’d been due for parole, provided his good behavior lasted.  He opened his eyes again and found the bottom corner of the calendar where the pages filed away from the wall, the edge of one, towards the back, folded into a neat triangle. 

One hundred and twenty-three days until Tony’s first parole hearing. 


	2. Soulbond AU

It was impossible to miss something you never had.  You could regret the lack, Tony supposed, but since you could never really know what it would feel like to have it, so you couldn’t exactly miss it.  Maybe that was a blessing.

He wasn’t sure when he realized he was different.  Wrong-different.  When had his parents’ glances had gone from concerned to furtive to something that might have been pitying?  If it had been pity, it had quickly become laced with something darker, maybe their own guilt slowly burning into penance, he couldn’t be sure.   They’d done a damn good job making themselves unhappy, that much was certain.

He remembered always knowing not to talk about it.  Keep it hidden.  He could still see the circus wallpaper border in the doctor’s office.  There had been a blue train with a smiling face pulling grinning, brightly colored animals in puffy-barred cages behind it.   Sometimes, he could feel the sticky thin sheet of paper covering the faux leather exam table rubbing against the backs of his thighs while the doctor talked in low tones to his mother, patting her gently on the shoulder.  Consoling, he knew now.   

Afterwards, he’d asked if they could go to the circus.  She had promised they would.  He’d wanted a balloon, red, like the one the clown was holding, and maybe some cotton candy.  Jarvis had taken him, the first of many half-fulfilled promises that he didn’t realize at the time were each a step away from him.  He’d gotten that and so much more, anything he wanted, in fact.  Everything.  They’d given him everything they could, trying to fill something he didn’t know was empty until years later. 

Tony lifted the cubed glass and took a long swallow, relishing the familiar burn as the alcohol ran down his throat and soured into his stomach.  He rubbed absently at the titanium band that circled around his wrist, covering the smooth, unblemished skin there where his soulmark would be. 

Should be.

He was being maudlin, he knew, though felt somewhat entitled at this point.  He’d been the perfect gentleman all day.  Hell, he’d even given a toast. 

 _To the happy couple_ , he thought, hearing the edge of bitterness in the words as he raised the empty glass to the city skyline that glittered outside the living room window.   The thing of it was, he was genuinely thrilled for Pepper and Happy.  They were perfect for each other.  Of course they were.  Couldn’t have happened to two better people.  

Still, he could close his eyes and see Pepper’s face in that moment before she’d caught herself.  He’d wanted her to know, was all.  Before they really committed to try something together.  Unbonded couples were the norm, after all.  Billions of people out there.  For most of human history, soulmates had been the stuff of fairy tales anyway, drifting between legend and romanticized fantasy.  Fuck, when you had a life expectancy of thirty or so years, it wasn’t like you could hold out for finding your soulmate. 

How many social rituals were built upon the idea of finding your soulmate?  Handshakes, kisses on the cheek, hell most cultures had adapted some greeting that allowed for touch. Just in case.   He'd been accused of everything from snobbery to germaphobia for his refusal to touch people, even to take things from them, but he had long ago tired of a polite ritual that left him unable to stop hoping all the while knowing each touch was going to end in disappointment.

Once upon a time, matchmakers were used help find someone compatible, or that was how they billed it anyway, until technology replaced the village witch throwing stones and chicken bones in the dirt and trading divination for your prized cow.  Now it was all online, sophisticated search programs, registries, trans-national immigration agreements, the whole world seeming to have embraced the idea once science gave them permission to believe what everyone wanted to believe all along.  That there was someone out there for you, your match, your mate.  It was comforting, he supposed.  Maybe we needed it now more than ever, as fractured and disconnected as we were.  As alone.

So, he might have spent some time researching all this.

A footnote.  In a journal article from the sixties.  Not even a peer-reviewed journal, just something that aspired to it.  That was all he had been able to find.  Doctor Simon Brewster, PhD, speculated that there could be an occurrence when a mate dies in utero, before the mark forms on the fetus but after the bond develops, though Doctor Brewster carefully noted that he could find no record of such a thing actually happening.  Maybe no one wanted to know about it.  Why would you?  It wasn’t something that could be cured.  There were no colored ribbons, no fundraisers, no pink vacuums or catchy bumper stickers.  What would be the point?

There were records though, if you knew what to look for and where to look for it.  You had to read between the lines.  Mingi, the cursed children who brought bad luck to some tribes in Ethiopia.  The lost ones, they were called by some of the indigenous Pacific Islanders.  Filipino stories told of Aswangs, who sicken and die quickly.  Various cultures seemed to have some lore about it, these children who were born wrong.  It probably didn’t happen all that often, but it must have happened enough to scare people, to make them create these explanations for something they couldn’t control and couldn’t understand. 

Tony reached for the bottle and held it up in front of him, swirling the remaining contents around in the bottom before bringing it to his mouth and swallowing the rest, squeezing his eyes shut as they watered where it burned a path down his thorat.  He was thrilled for Pepper and Happy.  

Just thrilled.

_“How did you—“ Tony started, then stopped and cleared his throat where his mouth had gone dry.  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit, staring out through the French doors over the garden where the guests were starting to fill the rows of white chairs.  “How did you know?”_

_“Tony,” she said from behind him. He was making her sad. It was her wedding day, and he was upsetting her.  He could see her reflection in the glass panes, a white silhouette clutching a colorful spray of some kind of flowers.  His mother would have known their names, he thought out of nowhere.  “Don’t do this to yourself.”_

_“Just—just tell me,” he heard himself say.  He could feel his jaw tightening like a vice, but couldn’t stop himself.  He shouldn’t be doing this.  Not now.  Probably not ever.  It was her day, and he was—fuck, he didn’t know what he was doing, except that he was about to walk the closest thing he’d had to a chance down the aisle, and he needed to hear it.  He could hear it from her.  Maybe only from her.  He had always wanted her happiness more than his own.  He wasn’t sure why he had to know, except that he’d walked out of a cave into something more, and it should be enough.  It was more than most would ever have, and it was so close to enough that if he could just hear it, just know, maybe it could be._

_She didn’t answer right away, as if giving him time to rethink it, to take it back.  He should, he knew, but he couldn’t._

_“I—I just knew,” she finally began, her words coming out quickly, like it would be better if she could peel the bandage off before the pain could register.  “When I touched him.  I mean, we’d talked before, and I always liked Happy, but…he took my briefcase, and we just—touched,” Pepper explained, an odd combination of happiness overlaid with sorrow in her voice.  “I just knew.  Everything was—it was more right than it had been the second before. I’m probably not—I don’t know how to say it.   It was,” she continued with a small sigh.  He could see her shoulders slump a bit in the reflection, but the way she looked, her eyes gone distant and soft at the memory, her right hand wrapping a circle around her left wrist as if she could feel the mark there, it was enough to answer his question, he supposed.  “It was like something I didn’t know I was carrying was taken.   This person would love me exactly as I am, no matter how I change or what happens to us---I can be entirely me, and this person—he will love me, Tony.  It was freedom.  It was being completely free because I will be loved, no matter what.  That’s…that’s what it felt like.”_

That was the thing.  Everyone had someone.  Maybe you didn’t find that person, but they were out there.  No matter who you were or what you did, there was someone who would love you.   Sure, it didn’t mean eternal bliss, even if you found that person.  Real life wasn’t a fucking storybook.  But it meant—well.  It meant you were someone who could be loved.  You had that.  And as it turned out, just knowing that meant something to people.  Maybe you wouldn’t be happy.  There were no guarantees.  But, everyone had the chance, and that mattered a whole fucking lot to people.  Hell, murderers had soulmarks.  Hilter, Stalin…Trump.  They all had marks. 

Ain’t life grand?  Oh, maybe there were others, but they sure as hell didn’t talk about it.  Who the fuck in their right mind would admit that?

Tony sat the bottle back on the coffee table with a loud thump, the sound echoing through the darkened room too loudly in the quiet.  You needed quiet for this, he thought.  Noise somehow made this whole thing all the more pathetic.  He’d mentally agreed when he placed Pepper’s hand in Happy’s, the two of them beaming at each other, to give himself this night, one night.  Hell, not even—fuck, what time was it?  Not even a night.  A few hours.  Then he would go back to reminding himself that he was Tony Stark and none of this had ever mattered. 

He couldn’t let this matter.

Tony bent over and reached across the sofa for the tablet, swiping it on, then rubbing a hand over his eyes at the glow and letting his head lean back against the cushion pillowing his neck.  He finally looked back at the screen, idly thumbing through the company emails, most of which he would ignore. 

He checked his personal email, finding one from Pepper, too casual to be anything other than her checking up on him.  “Jarvis, send the Potts-Hogan suite at the St. Regis something that says ‘Tony is eating and sleeping appropriately and completely not engaging in self-destructive behavior,’” Tony called out.

“The usual fruit basket and shoes then,” JARVIS responded. 

“Sounds good,” Tony mumbled.  There was one other email in his inbox, this one from an unknown sender with a large document attached.  “J, scan this other email for me, would you?”

“I’m not detecting any viruses, Sir.   I am also unable to determine the sender without more analysis.  The attachment appears to be some type of scientific report by a Doctor Erik Selvig,” JARVIS supplied after a moment.

“Huh.  Well, let’s see what the good doctor has to say,” Tony muttered, opening the attachment.  Thermonuclear astrophysics?  Bit hefty for late night reading, but at least somewhat interesting, he mused.  He managed to make it as far as quantum tunneling effect before switching off the tablet, blinking at the sudden darkness.  He reached up and jerked off his bowtie, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and untucking it from his waist before pushing himself up and shrugging it off, letting it fall to the floor.  He toed off his shoes, then kicked off his pants, padding to the bed in his boxers and socks.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling until the big dark blob dancing in  front of his eyes coalesced into bits and pieces his eyes could pick out in the dim, blue glow of the reactor.  He never should have asked Pepper that.  You can’t miss what you never had, he’d told himself.  It was the uncertainty.  He’d built it up in his head because it was the one thing he couldn’t have.  It was the not knowing that was worse. Wasn’t that what everyone said? 

You didn’t need a soulmate to be happy.  That had always been true. 

He thought maybe you needed to know you had a chance to find one though.  That maybe just the certainty that you could be loved, maybe that would be enough. 

“Jarvis,” he said heavily, voice thick and slurry with lost sleep and too much alcohol. 

“Of course, Sir.  One moment,” JARVIS responded.  Tony blinked at the sudden brightness, though the sharp, staccato sounds were oddly comforting, familiar enough by this point, he supposed.  He rolled over to his side, watching the grainy black and white projection play on the bedroom wall.  Maybe you never outgrew the comforts of childhood, though it might be less embarrassing to carry around a patched-up lovey of some kind instead of this.   On the screen, Cap was waving a hand over his shoulder to signal the Commandos forward.  He could feel the tension leaking out of his body, limbs going heavy and soft, eyes pricking as exhaustion overtook him.

Something about these old films had always been soothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A complete version of this with a second chapter giving it a little more resolution is in the story titled "Hiraeth." I just couldn't leave poor Tony like that.


	3. Post-AoU Established Relationship Make-Up Sex

“They look good,” Tony’s voice called out from behind him as he watched the replay of this morning’s training session.  “Not us-good, but good.  Like Avengers Lite.”

“What are you even doing here, Tony?” Steve asked, too tired to muster much in the way of surprise.  He turned in his chair just enough to see Tony leaning against the doorway, wearing one of those strange t-shirts that always left Steve at a loss as to whether they were meant to be ironic or just some other kind of armor he didn’t understand.

Tony ignored the question and walked over to stand behind Steve’s chair, bracing his hands along the edge of the back as if he could keep Steve in place, keep the focus on the team and talk of tactics and pretend the gulf between them was distance and a roster of names. 

“Can’t an interested investor check in on—okay, okay,” Tony amended quickly as Steve shoved out of the chair and stood up so quickly it wobbled between them, spinning on its base out of Tony’s grip. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Steve reminded him, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to be.  As he did, he could see something flicker across Tony’s face before he looked away.  It was the same calculating, assessing look he’d seen aimed at him over a woodpile, and he liked it even less now. 

“Yeah, I got that part when you told me that I should go back to Pepper, who, by the way, says ‘hi’ and that she doesn’t farm,” Tony ground out. 

“I didn’t say—“ Steve started, then stopped himself.  He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out heavily, then forced his posture to relax.  By the little huff of a laugh Tony let out, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.  What was it about Tony that could get him so wound up so fast?  It was like the two of them had no idle setting.  They were stopped or someone had their foot to the floor and there was no in between.  “I said Pepper might be better for you.  At least fights with her don’t tend to involve structural damage.”  God, he hated how he sounded, petty and bitter.  Hurt. 

“You lied, Tony.  You went behind my back with Ultron and then—then you did it again with Vision!  And you said it was because you couldn’t trust me?  How am I supposed to react to that?” Steve demanded roughly, eyes narrowing as Tony opened his mouth to object.  Steve cut him off abruptly, shook his head and stalked towards the door.  “You know what?  Forget it.  Just—“ Go.  He wanted to say it, but the word wouldn’t come out.  He had told Tony he would miss him, but he’d told himself that building this, this new team, would be enough to fill whatever space was left by Tony’s absence.  He wasn’t sure now if he’d been lying more to himself or Tony. 

“It was never about not trusting you, Steve.  I didn’t mean—look, when I said that—fuck.  You—you see the world how it should be, how it could be, if we’d all just—be better at it.  At this.  And we need that.  _I_ need that.  I can’t be the one that takes that away from you, I can’t, but, God, Steve, there are things out there that are going to come here and kill us, and we aren’t enough to stop them!” Tony shouted, hands gesturing wide, then gripping the back of the chair again, keeping it from spinning or keeping himself still, Steve wasn’t sure. 

“You’re asking me to watch you die because it’s safer that way.  I know Ultron was a mistake.  Huge.  I kind of got that around the time he Wile E. Coyote’d a city,” Tony bit out, all venom and self-loathing now, and Steve knew enough from the news reports to hear hours of hearings and stacks of subpoenas in those words.  It was all Steve could do to bite back something to soothe that, to tell him it was going to be okay, they would figure this out, even though he didn’t have answers today any more than he had then.  He should have been next to Tony for it though.  He wasn’t sure which one of them he’d been punishing by hiding up here and calling it building something when each day was a step further away from what he wanted.

“But you want to solve this with just us, and we are not going to be enough, Steve,” Tony was saying, as if plucking thoughts from Steve’s mind.  “We are going to lose if we do it that way—hell, you know that!  And maybe we will anyway, but it isn’t going to be because we didn’t try everything possible to stop it from happening, and if that means I end up fucking up over and over again, then so be it.  That’s on me, and you can’t handle that, then fine.  Walk away.  Or hole up here and do exactly the same thing we’ve been doing, but when whatever is coming comes, do not think for one fucking minute that I’m going to watch this world burn, that I’m going to—that I’m going to see you die, and think there was anything left undone that I could have tried to stop that from happening.”

Steve wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, just that he’d never been able to pull himself far enough away from Tony when they were apart, and he sure as hell couldn’t do it when they were this close, when Tony was standing here, asking Steve not to hate him because he couldn’t be the guy who weighed the consequences of failing to do something against the risk of trying.  He’d known that about Tony since the moment he read his file, and he’d seen him succeed and fail, both spectacularly, but he’d never seen him stop, and maybe Steve needed a little of that, too.

He felt Tony’s mouth open under his, pliant and hot, some kind of needy, keening sound coming from one of them, electrifying the air, and when he pulled away long enough to take a breath, it was warm with Tony’s own.  “I missed you,” Steve admitted hoarsely, looking down at Tony’s wide, brown eyes, dark with want and too wide, soft at the edges instead of the usual slant to them, because Steve had caught him unguarded for a moment.  Tony always expected the least from others and the most from himself, and it killed Steve that sometimes, that was all he could seem to give him.  It was truer than he had let himself admit before now. 

He had missed this, missed having Tony in his arms, missed hearing him laugh and tease and challenge and argue, missed making Tony his world and being Tony’s in return.  It was almost too much sometimes, the scales always dangerously close to unbalanced between them, because Tony would give and give and let Steve take and call himself complete because Steve was, and that could be close to enough for Tony if Steve let it.  There was the easy way to love Tony, Steve knew, and the hard way, where you didn’t let him pour everything into you and call your happiness his own.  It was just hard to see the line sometimes, until you were already so far past it, you couldn’t go back. 

Steve carded his hands through Tony’s hair, breathing out a long rush of air against his cheek as he felt Tony relax against him, the hands that were clutching the back of his uniform unclenching, then rubbing up and down in slow, practiced motions. 

“I missed you,” Steve repeated, harder, more insistently than before, stepping forward as he did, pushing Tony back the few paces so he was pressed against the office wall, one of those inspirational posters quoting some pithy phrase about leadership while an eagle soared over mountains framed next to his head.  A gift from Tony, Steve recalled, then wondered that he’d kept it, let alone moved it to the new facility, except that there really wasn’t anything to wonder about.

“Show me,” Tony ground out as he thrust his hips against the juncture of Steve’s thighs, letting him feel how hard he was already, sending a spike of desire through Steve’s gut, pooling warm, low in his belly.  “Show me how much you missed me, Cap.  I want to feel it.”  Steve wasn’t immune to the challenge there, sparking behind Tony’s eyes, whatever surprise that may have been there a moment earlier erased, something darker and unyielding in its place. 

Tony’s hands worked the zippers and buckles on Steve’s training uniform probably faster than even he could have.  Perks of designing it, he assumed, then felt an odd mix of want and a strange, chagrined sort of pleasure at the idea of Tony making this for him and thinking about safety and utility and how to get it off him in the most efficient way possible.  A moment later, he felt cool air wisp over his heated skin, and he dipped his shoulders enough for Tony to shrug the uniform off him and push it down, past his waist, letting his fingers follow the rough material over Steve’s body until they gripped Steve’s hips where the bone carved out against the taut skin there.  He could feel Tony tracing the line of it, from the curve of his waist, slanting down towards where Steve’s cock jutted out between them.

Tony didn’t touch him there, though.  Instead, he let his hands continue to wander down, cupping Steve’s balls, rolling them between his palm and thumb as they tightened underneath his touch.  Steve sucked in a harsh breath and braced a hand against the wall between Tony’s head and the obnoxious poster hard enough to send it rocking against the drywall.  Tony just raised his eyebrows and smirked with what was clearly satisfaction.  Steve bent his head and captured Tony’s mouth in his, slanting his lips over Tony’s, feeling the curve give way to Steve’s tongue, the kiss turning hungry and hard as he felt Tony’s tongue slide the length of his and push into his mouth, sweeping deep, the flattening against Steve’s, pushing back, making it a battle for a moment because he knew Steve liked to win.

Steve groaned into Tony’s mouth when he felt one of Tony’s hands circle his length, lightly at first, then with enough pressure for Steve to really feel it.  He thrust into the ring of Tony’s hand, the familiar rough burn of skin on skin curling his hand into a fist against the wall next to Tony’s head, the other moving to the waist of Tony’s pants with far less coordination than he would have liked.  He felt Tony’s mouth form a slight grin against his own at his efforts, and he made himself tear his mouth away long enough to look down to see what he was doing, breath echoing in the room in sharp pants.  Tony took pity on him enough to at least toe off his shoes while Steve finally managed to undo Tony’s belt and work the zipper on the front of Tony’s slacks down while Tony toed his shoes off and stepped out of his pants.  Tony dropped his hands from Steve long enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor in one practiced motion, one hand immediately going back to stroking Steve’s cock, while the other cupped Steve’s jaw and guided his mouth back down to Tony’s. 

“Pocket,” Tony said out of the side of his mouth.  Steve would like to deny the amount of time it took for him to register that and exactly what Tony meant, but it wasn’t until Tony took Steve’s hand and placed it over the front pocket of his pants that Steve figured out that there was something for him to do.  He dug his fingers in, earning a hiss from Tony, and found the small tube, then pushed Tony’s pants and boxers down over his hips and past the curve of his ass.  Tony kicked them off the rest of the way, completely unselfconscious about being naked, pressed up against a wall and holding Steve’s cock in his hand where it was leaking fluid over his fingers where Tony was tracing his thumb up and down the slit and stroking along the large vein with his fingers, using the pre-come to ease the path.

Steve unscrewed the cap from the tube, promptly dropped the cap, then grimaced as Tony snickered into his shoulder, nipping lightly at the skin there.  “Supersoldier reflexes, right?” Tony teased.  “God, I missed you, too.”  Steve stopped his frantic motions and looked at Tony, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, a fine sheen of sweat lighting his skin, mouth swollen from Steve’s kisses and more beautiful than Steve had any right to.  “So damn much, Steve.”

Steve let his head sink to Tony’s shoulder, rocking his forehead back and forth against the hardness of Tony’s collarbone, then pressing his mouth there as he wrapped his arms under Tony’s, winding them up Tony’s back and pulling the other man’s chest to his.  He heard the small hitch of breath from Tony, then felt him shudder once and go nearly limp.  After a moment, Tony’s hands snaked around Steve’s waist until they fit together, intimate, yes, but it already felt like something had shifted. It might have been both of them.

“This is never going to work if we keep using each other to punish ourselves,” Steve choked out against the skin of Tony’s neck, half a plea, half a promise.  Tony moved his hands from Steve’s waist up to cup both sides of Steve’s jaw, angling Steve’s head so they were facing each other. 

“Make me feel it,” Tony said with quiet determination. 

Steve took the tube from one hand and squeezed a liberal amount into the other, then ran it up and down his cock several times.  He braced his hand against the wall again, casting a quick glance at the picture, now tipped at a precarious angle.  He wrapped his other arm around Tony’s waist and lifted in one swift motion. 

“Jesus—fuck—“ Tony stuttered out as the breath left him in a whoosh. 

“Wrap your legs around me,” Steve ordered.  Tony didn’t need any more encouragement than that, locking his feet into the small of Steve’s back with a grunt.  Steve squeezed the rest of the contents of the tube into his hand and tossed it to the side, then pressed a slick finger between the curve of Tony’s ass, feeling the muscles clench, then relax as Tony shifted against him.  Steve traced the rim of Tony’s entrance and felt Tony’s head hit his shoulder with a soft thunk, his back bowing as Steve pressed his finger in to the knuckle, then worked it deeper, coating the walls of Tony’s channel while he waited for him to loosen. 

Steve withdrew his finger and worked it in a few more times, until he felt Tony’s body stop working against the invasion.  He added a second finger, which slid in easier this time, and used his thumb to rub up and down over the delicate skin below Tony’s hole, pressing just hard enough where he knew Tony could feel it as he kept up the motion with his fingers. 

Tony moaned lowly and tossed his head back, eyes half-closed, mouth hanging open, looking absolutely wrecked.  Steve would never get tired of seeing him like this, completely unabashed, unashamed, awash in pleasure, trusting Steve completely.  Steve took his time stretching Tony before finally adding a third finger, pumping them deep this time, making Tony’s eyes snap open, the whites nearly gone, dark depths watching Steve like he was one of Tony’s machines he could take apart and piece back together, better and stronger, and maybe that wasn’t far from the truth.

He got one hand around Tony’s waist and the other under one arm and around his back, then lifted to find the right angle.  Tony tightened his legs around Steve’s waist, his knees digging into Steve’s sides, and for a moment, as the head of his cock caught against the rim of Tony’s entrance, then slid down and in, Steve lost his breath, the air rushing out of him as Tony sank down on him, taking him all the way in until he was buried to the hilt.  Tony hadn’t looked away from him the whole time, the slight moue that his mouth formed and the way his nostrils flared and eyes glittered, sharp and vaguely predatory, the only change to his expression. 

Steve had to fight his lungs to work, to remember to breath when he wanted to just feel, just revel in the hot, tight sheath that held him and not think of anything else.  “Breathe, Captain,” Tony whispered, bringing his hand up to cup the side of Steve’s head, his thumb tracing the line of Steve’s cheekbone, back and forth, back and forth, and the rhythm was enough to break whatever spell held him.  The air burned as he took it in, too much at once, almost cold as it rushed into his body.  Cold, and Tony was warmth and heat and fire, and he wanted more of that. 

Steve bent at the knee and lifted Tony enough to withdraw almost completely, then braced his hand by Tony’s head again, eyes shifting quickly to Tony’s face.  Tony nodded, face already slackening, and Steve pushed up, seating himself fully again.  Tony’s body juddered as Steve’s thrust found its mark, his cock bobbing between them spurting fluid. 

“Nguh,”  Tony groaned, his head falling back until he was staring at what must be the world’s most fascinating ceiling tiles.  Steve withdrew again and repeated the motion, quickly finding a rhythm of long, slow strokes.  Tony’s groans changed to broken, needy grunts as Steve quickened the pace, slamming hard into Tony, lifting Tony’s body up and down with each thrust to make sure he had the right angle.  He took his arm off the wall and wrapped it around Tony as his strokes became sloppy, using his other hand, still slick from the lube, to stroke Tony’s cock, already a deep red with strain. 

“Jus—ugh—jus’ there—fuck—Steve—“ Tony slurred, eyes wide, mouth trying to form words that he couldn’t quite seem to find.  Tony shuddered and clenched, back curving into a bow, his neck cording with the effort as he came into Steve’s hand.  Steve felt the slick walls of Tony’s channel go from loose to tight around his cock as Tony’s whole body clamped down around Steve in quick, jerky motions as Tony spent himself.  Steve felt his own body tighten in response and pushed Tony’s back against the wall, using it for leverage and bracing both hands under Tony’s arms to keep him upright as the other man went languid.  Steve pushed in and out a few more times, hips snapping hard against the slick, wet heat of Tony’s ass, and then he was coming so hard the edges of his vision darkened.  His thrusts became sloppy, and he felt the strength leave his legs as if the serum was being leached out of him.  He somehow maneuvered them to the nearby futon, settling Tony down and then collapsing nearly on top of him, breathing heavily. 

He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, trying to find breath for words and then for something to say that wouldn’t ruin this.  It seemed almost too fragile to let words into it, like the whole thing would shatter if they spoke.  Maybe it would. 

“I’m gonna fuck up, Steve,” Tony mumbled into the curve of Steve’s neck almost too softly for even Steve to hear.  Tony’s body went rigid beneath him, then Tony lifted his head, letting his chin scrape along the column of Steve’s throat as he put some space between them, sending a  shudder through Steve’s body in response.  “We both know that.”

“We all are,” Steve replied, a rough, choked sound that was almost broken, because it was true, and that was the hardest part.  When they made a mistake, innocent people paid the price.  You could talk yourself through good intentions all you wanted, but the job meant risk, and you weren’t the only one taking those risks.  What they were up against, it demanded that of everyone, whether they agreed to it or not, and he knew that, he did, but damn if it wasn’t hard to see it happen and know there could have been another way but they’d picked the wrong door.  “But Tony, you can’t shut me out because you don’t want the argument.  It’s just going to get harder, you and I both know that.  These choices…we have to make them impossible.  That’s the way they should be.  Wrong or right, we’ve got to earn them.  That’s the only way we’ll be able to look at ourselves when this is over.”

“Be wrong together, too, huh?” Tony breathed out, aiming for humor, but it sounded more like relief.  Tony let his hands fall away from Steve’s shoulders, flopping to the side of his head where he lay as sprawled on a futon as someone could manage to be.  Steve pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at Tony, his eyes instinctively dipping to Tony’s smooth chest where the reactor had once held his life inside it. 

“If we have to,” Steve agreed, tracing a circle on Tony’s chest with one finger, then spreading his hand out, feeling the rabbit-quick beat of Tony’s heart underneath him. 

“You should put that in the brochure,” Tony muttered, swiping a hand over his face and ending up leaving his hair haphazard curls, sticking up at all angles. 

“It’s already there.  Right where we call ourselves a team,” Steve responded, giving Tony a moment to decide how he was going to take that.  “We have to be different, Tony.  It has to mean something, really mean something.  Us. Together.”  He wasn’t even sure what he was talking about anymore, but Tony didn’t seem to want to press the issue. 

Steve was already more than halfway to sleep when he heard Tony whisper against the top of his head, soft and fierce and aching with wonder and fear and something that might be hope.   “I think it might mean everything.”  Steve waited a beat, then pressed his lips to the side of Tony’s head, as he threaded his fingers through Tony’s, flexing his fingers over the rough pads of Tony’s palm. 

“It does.”


	4. Steve POV from This Is Not A Drill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This request was for a POV from Steve from the This Is Not a Drill series. Probably won't make much sense if you haven't read that.

Calm.

That was the first thing that fully registered.  He was calm. The past few days had been a cacophony of upheaval tinged with a loss so profound, the Heat had been something of a welcome distraction.  That, at least, was something he could deal with, however unpleasant the task might be.  The rest of this…the rest of this was so full of wrongness, it was like when his mind tried to grasp onto what had happened, it refused and just skipped right over it to focus on the food tasting different or the phones being the size of your palm and apparently used to avoid talking to people now. 

So, the calm was new.

Steve blinked and looked around.  The vaguely sterile room they’d been keeping him in was the same.  There were some files strewn on the top of the metal table. The Avengers, he recalled.  Fury.  Some kind of project he wanted Steve to be involved with.   A group of extraordinary people, Fury had said. 

_“I’d like you to meet him, if you feel up to it, Captain,” Fury said, trying to make it sound like an offer instead of order, but Steve had heard enough of the latter to know the difference._

_“He’s Howard’s son?” Steve asked, looking over the file on the table in front of him._

_“That’s right,” Fury acknowledged as he walked towards the door to the conference room that abutted Steve’s quarters.  “Though, I wouldn’t recommend leading with that.  Open,” he called out, and the door swooshed open at Fury’s command.  The door to Steve’s room did not do that.  At least, not for Steve.  For his protection, Fury had said.  They didn’t want another incident, after all.  Just a little longer and you’ll be out of here, Captain.  Lots of information for you to process.  Don’t want to overwhelm you._

_SHIELD was just so very, very considerate._

_Steve was fairly sure ‘a little longer' was defined by how long it took him to agree to throw his lot in with Fury’s little band of brothers, but he nodded in agreement.  Even something as banal as a different face would be nice.  At least it would be a change of routine._

The Avengers, his mind supplied, though the words just sort of floated in and hung there in his mind.  Fury.  The Avengers. Howard’s son.  Anthony.

_“Mr. Stark.”_

He realized for the first time that he was on his knees, looking up at the window of glass that separated his quarters from the conference room where various doctors and military personnel came to ask him the same inane question over and over again.  He could hear shouting, though it took a moment for the shouts to start to form words.  He should be more concerned, he knew.  It felt..odd…that he wasn’t.  Not bad-odd, he decided.  More like just something worth noting.  But, he wasn’t worried about the shouting or his lack of reaction, not really.  He wasn’t because…because…his mind searched for the right words…because…

 _Alpha_.

The word hummed through him, sending a shiver of warmth through his chest and stomach like he had swallowed something too hot, almost painful for a moment before it diffused, spreading through his body and settling low in his gut, and he realized he was rock hard.  At that, his brain finally caught up to his body.

I bonded, he thought, somewhat giddily.  I bonded.  I have an Alpha.  The serum was already clearing the Bonding hormones out of his system, he knew, and even now, in the back of his mind, he was already picking this apart, because it was ridiculous, really.  After all, he hardly needed some Alpha to take care of him.

It was just really nice that his Alpha was taking care of him.

None of this, since he woke up, cold and panicked and sure that Hydra was behind this somehow, had made any sense.  Except that now his whole body was telling him that it made complete sense, and for a moment, he let himself keep that, enjoy the peace that came with it, let it whiteout everything that had been filling his head, the fear, the noise, the uncertainty, the aching maw of grief that seemed to get bigger with each new discovery, like it was a step away from something every time he learned to navigate a part of this new world.  For just a moment, he allowed himself the pleasure of giving in to this, letting those burdens slough off his shoulders, because everything was going to be okay now.  His Alpha would take care of him, would take all of this from him, and they would be happy, and--

Honestly, his Alpha was a lot shinier than he would have anticipated.

He was tall, all red and gold, like something straight from one of those battered Amazing Stories Steve’s mom would bring home sometimes when a patient left it behind.    He was standing in the middle of the conference room, between Steve and Fury, both hands up, palms thrust out, each of which was emitting a strange, blue glow.  He’s protecting me, Steve realized, the thought careening through his head with a hazy sort of pleasant buzz.

“Oh, no.  No.  You have got to be kidding me.  Absolutely fucking not, Stark, I swear to God, you are not—Just no, Stark, don’t even think about it!“ the man who had introduced himself as Fury shouted in disapproval as he stepped between Steve’s Alpha and the glass window that separated them.  

Well, that was just rude, Steve thought as he slammed his fist into the glass, which sent a series of cracks spiderwebbing out from the impact.  His Alpha apparently agreed with the sentiment.  It was nice they were so compatible.

Steve felt he should probably voice some sort of objection when his Alpha threw the other man across the room, but found he could only muster a vague appreciation of the trajectory.   Poor form on the landing, though, Steve thought with a sympathetic wince. 

His Alpha turned around to look through the glass partition where Steve knelt on the other side, staring down at Steve through glowing, slitted eyes. 

“You really should have a pillow for your knees,” his Alpha said, and even with the oddly robotic voice, Steve could hear the frustration lacing the words. 

Steve beamed up at him.  His Alpha was so considerate.


	5. Steve, the Surprise Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was for Tony being surprised that Steve would want to bottom. Enjoy your smut.

“Ummm,” Tony murmured against the skin of Steve’s stomach.  “Yeah,” Tony drawled.   “That would be so—wait, what?” Tony asked sharply as he pried his mouth away and stared up at where Steve reclined against a stack of pillows on their bed.

“I—you said---you said I should tell you what I wanted, so.  I thought we could try that.  If you wanted, I mean,” Steve said with a small shrug.

“If. I. Wanted,” Tony repeated carefully, almost as if the word hurt to say.  “Really?” Tony winced around the word without really meaning to, but unable to stop himself, his face squinching up a bit in disbelief he didn’t want to feel.  “I mean—not that I’m opposed.  At. All. I just—I guess I figured you’d be,” Tony continued, waiving his hand in the air in place of using actual words.

“I’d be?” Steve questioned with a slight frown.

“Uncomfortable with that idea. I don’t know.  You’re just—all you and…and stuff,” Tony stuttered.   It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it.  Of course, he had thought about it.  Hell, he’d thought about it since he was a teenager.  What it would feel like, what Steve would look like, the sounds he would make, how it would be to be the one that Steve trusted enough to want to do that with…so, yeah, he’d given it some cursory thought.

Steve raised his eyebrows in question, his mouth flattening into a thin line.  “I’m not entirely sure how to take that,” he said evenly after a moment’s hesitation.

“You’re, you know.  ‘Murica and all that,” Tony offered, as if that explained anything. 

“I—I don’t have any idea what you just said,” Steve replied, the first sting of embarrassed annoyance start to creep into his voice.  “Look, forget it, okay?  It was just an idea. You said to tell you,” Steve finished, almost petulantly.  Tony groaned and rolled over to Steve’s side, leaving one hand over the flat of Steve’s stomach, still warm and wet from where his mouth had been before Steve derailed all higher brain function.

“I’m not—no.  Okay, really?  Forget about it?  That is literally impossible, you know that, right?  Like, Loki could show up here with his own artificial intelligence-powered robotic raptor squad playing hot potato with Mjolnir, and I couldn’t forget about it,” Tony burst out in half exasperation, half adoration.  “I just thought you’d be…uninterested.  In that.”

“Why not?” Steve prompted after Tony trailed off.

“You just seem…”  Tony started, then grimaced.  “You seem like you’d be the toppiest top to ever top, okay?”  Tony muttered, flopping down on his back on the bed beside Steve’s leg and staring up at the ceiling, before hazarding a glance up at Steve, who was giving the Furrow of Disapproval a workout.  “Some guys, they don’t want to, which is fine, whatever.  I like both, and I like to make my partner happy, so it’s no big deal.” 

Except, now it was a big deal because it was all Tony could think about. 

“Why wouldn’t I like it though?  You said you like both.  You seem to really like when I…when I…” Steve stammered, a blush already reddening the skin on his chest and neck while he tried desperately to meet Tony’s eyes.

“When you fuck me?  Yes, Steve.  I like that.  Literally everyone knows I like that, and you know why I know that everyone knows I like that?” Tony demanded.

“Is it because Clint swears he went partially deaf on purpose so he wouldn’t have to listen to you anymore?” Steve suggested.

“Got it in one,” Tony grinned.  “Some guys, I don’t know, like they think it’s more manly or some shit to top.  Since, you know, women bottom.  Or something.  Hey, don’t look at me like that.  I didn’t come up with this,” Tony objected, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the same person whichever way we make love,” Steve replied, his frown starting to resemble Hulk trying to do equations.  Tony felt a small, fond smile curve his mouth. Steve always called it making love, and at first he’d thought Steve just didn’t want to say ‘sex’ or something, but Steve, he’d quickly learned, was hardly a prude.  Turns out a bunch of young Army boys stuck in a warzone talked about two things:  food and sex.  Who knew?  “Besides,” Steve continued, his frown truly becoming adorably epic.  “That makes it sound like the position associated with women is considered the, well, the lesser position.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like some gay men fetishize masculinity and don’t know fuck all about women,” Tony grumbled, scrubbing his face with his hands.  “Look, believe me, I am completely onboard here if you want to try it.  Like, male praying mantis level of committed to the idea of having sex with you, however you want it.  But, I mean, are you sure?” Tony asked quietly. 

“I’ve given this a lot of thought—“ Steve started.

“Oh, God,” Tony moaned, throwing his arm over his face.  “Please stop speaking about thinking about me fucking you.  I’m—look at me, Steve, I’m getting hard from words.  Words, Steve.  Not even sexy words, just, you know, basic, run-of-the-mill words.”

“I think it would feel good,” Steve continued as if Tony hadn’t spoken.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re like Tantric Scrabble,” Tony interrupted with a shake of his head.

 “That doesn’t even make sense, and I think we should try it.  If you want to, I mean,” Steve said, feeling himself start to warm with a combination of arousal and self-consciousness. 

“If I want to, he says,” Tony mumbled from underneath his arm.  Tony tossed his arm to the side and rolled over onto his elbows to glare up at Steve.  “Steve.  Are you sure this is about what you want?  Really want, not just want to want because you think it’s something I want?”

“I—yes?  I mean, yes, I want it.  If you do.  You don’t have to, Tony, really.  It’s okay if you don’t want to.  I love the way we usually make love—I do. Really, I love it. It’s—God, being with you is amazing.  It’s just…when we’re together like that, you just look so—so gone sometimes, and I thought, maybe.  Maybe it would be nice.  To feel like that,” Steve admitted, almost reluctantly, eyes shifting away from Tony.

“Steve, look at me,” Tony demanded quietly, eyes glittering in the low light.  A beat went by, then Steve dragged his gaze back to Tony’s.  Even in the low light of the bedroom, Tony could read the vulnerability there, the desire for acceptance.  This thing between them still had the feeling of newness to it, a fragility that neither of them seemed to want to acknowledge.  “I would like nothing more than to work you open, take my time with you, like you do with me, make sure you’re ready, then fill you up with my cock until you can’t think of anything else except how good it feels when I fuck you, until you’re too far gone to think of anything except deeper, harder, more, and you beg me to touch you, just touch you, so you can come while you still feel me filling you, so your whole body tightens around me until I empty myself inside you while you scream my name.”

“Oh,” Steve croaked, gaze snapping back to Tony’s.  “Okay.”

“It’s good we have these little talks,” Tony murmured into Steve’s hip, nipping lightly.  Steve was sitting up against the headboard, blinking owlishly down at Tony. “Steve?  Babe?”

“Hmm?” Steve hummed.

“Anything else we need to talk about?” Tony asked lightly, grinning lasciviously as he started to press small, grinding bites along Steve’s hipbone, laving each one with his tongue when he was done.

“I think I understand the Tantric Scrabble thing now,” Steve said as Tony pushed the sheet aside with one hand and grabbed the pillows from behind Steve’s back with the other, urging him down on the bed.  Steve seemed to force his sluggish body to comply, flattening himself out on the bed and letting his legs fall open. 

“Nmmm,” Tony purred, tracing the line of muscle from under Steve’s knee up the inside of his thigh.  He swung one leg to straddle Steve’s, then bent down, curving an elbow on either side of Steve’s chest.  He could feel Steve’s hard cock pressing insistently against his belly, and let his hips thrust up just slightly against Steve’s thigh so he could feel Tony’s arousal as well. 

Steve’s eyes were dark and wide, little more than a ring of white visible at the edges, his mouth slightly parted.  As Tony watched, Steve’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, an unconsciously titillating gesture.  Tony heard himself moan and dipped his head, letting it fall against Steve’s chest, resting there with his back curved so he could look down at the space between them.  His own cock was red and full, raised just slightly off Steve’s hip.  Steve was always ahead of him, his own erection already jutting out next to Tony’s stomach and leaking fluid in small, wet spurts over Steve’s stomach and groin.  Tony moved his hips again, slowly this time, the mimicry obvious.  When he looked up, Steve’s eyes were squeezed shut, mouth flattened as the muscles of his throat constricted, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.  Tony watched, mesmerized for a moment, then turned his head to the side and took Steve’s nipple between his teeth.

Steve’s whole body jumped and his eyes flew open, hands twisting reflexively in the sheet, and if he wasn’t carefu—yep, there went the sheets.  Tony smiled, keeping Steve’s nipple between his lips, jabbing his tongue out to lick lightly at the sensitive peak. 

“T—Tony,” Steve choked out, shaking his head back and forth.  Tony could feel Steve’s legs moving underneath him, seemingly of their own volition. 

Tony sucked hard, drawing the dark pink skin up into his mouth and letting his tongue swirl in circles around the areola before releasing it.  Steve was making gasping, needy little groans that were going straight to Tony’s cock.  He took in a deep breath, then slowly let the air out of his lungs, and reached down to pinch the head of his own cock, because, unlike Steve, he really had one shot at this and if Steve kept looking and sounding like that, it was going to turn into a somewhat less eventful evening than he had in mind.

“No need for foreplay, huh?”  Tony asked. 

Steve shook his head back and forth rapidly again and finally stopped squirming underneath Tony, though he couldn’t seem to keep entirely still, like too much sensation was running through his body to stop moving entirely.  “Sheets,” Steve burst out as if the word exploded from his chest.  “Sorry.  Again.”

“Steve, hon, you tear all the bedding you want.  Hell, we’ll all go as the happiest mummies on the planet next Halloween,” Tony assured him.  Tony stretched his body across Steve’s and reached into the nightstand drawer, grabbing the tube and tossing it on the bed. 

“Okay, roll over,” Tony said, grabbing a pillow and scrunching it between his hands.

Steve shook his head, then dropped his eyes.  “We…we don’t. Like that.  We…I like to see you,” Steve managed, looking back up at Tony. 

“It’ll be easier, at least the first time we try this,” Tony promised, nudging at Steve’s hip.

“I want to see you,” Steve repeated more firmly, setting his jaw, and Tony knew that part of the discussion was over.

Tony slid his leg off where he was straddling Steve’s thigh and settled himself between Steve’s knees.  Steve was watching him with a desperate sort of look, moving his body back and forth up and down on the bed ever so slightly.  Tony placed a light hand against the inside of Steve’s thigh, and the other man immediately stilled.  Tony slowly pushed Steve’s leg up and to the side, then repeated the action with the other leg, until Steve was spread wide for him, cock tapping lightly against his stomach with each movement.  There was a light, white path streaking across Steve’s belly already, and his cock was straining and leaking.

“You want me to take care of you first?” Tony offered.  Steve just shook his head again and bit his lip, and fuck it all if that wasn’t just the hottest thing Tony had ever seen. 

“Want…want what you said.  With you inside me,” Steve panted, voice rough and raw with need. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve,” Tony ground out, closing his eyes again and trying to think of differential equations.  “Okay, okay.  Okay,” Tony babbled.  “I’m going to get you loose now, okay?  Just try to relax.  It’ll feel weird at first, but you’ll get used to it.  Anything you don’t like, just tell me.”  He took a deep breath and dug around in the mess of a bed for the tube of lube.  He squirted a liberal amount on his hand and rubbed them together, warming it, then added another dollop to his index finger.  He pushed Steve’s thighs even further apart and touched the tip of his finger lightly to the rim of muscle around Steve’s hole, coating the raised edge.   Tony looked up at Steve, who was staring down at him, pupils dark, a fine sheet of perspiration on his brow and chest.

Without further preamble, Tony pushed his finger in to the knuckle, then held it there, letting Steve adjust to the sudden invasion.  Dear God, he was so fucking tight.  Like heat and wet and pressure and seriously, Tony needed to stop thinking ahead and focus on making this good for Steve, but holy hell. 

“You okay?” Tony asked.

“Ummm,” Steve slurred out, blinking slowly down at him. 

“Going to need words, Steve,” Tony urged.

“M’good, Tony,” Steve replied.   “Feels good.”

Tony took that for the permission it was and slowly pressed his finger all the way in, watching as Steve’s hole gripped him, the clear gel oozing out around his finger.  He withdrew his finger to the tip and worked it in and out of Steve’s body until it slid in without resistance, then added a second finger and more lube, easing both in slowly.  He heard Steve grunt lowly and stopped, but then Steve was moving, shifting his body around on the bed and pressing down against Tony’s hand until his fingers were buried deep inside. 

“You like that, eh?” Tony surmised.  “Well, you’re gonna love this.”  Tony crooked his fingers, hooking them up and pressing further into Steve’s body, feeling Steve’s inner walls firm and then relax, until he found the tight bundle of nerves and stroked against it with the tips of his fingers.

Well, Tony thought a moment later, that certainly did it. 

Steve’s whole body shuddered and clenched around Tony’s fingers, his knees clamping together around Tony as his hips jolted, sending a spurt of fluid over his chest in what Tony figured was the absolute most fucking gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.  Steve was making some kind of unintelligible sound that might have been Tony’s name if he could have bought a vowel. 

Tony drew his fingers back, then began scissoring them, slowly at first, then with more force behind it, working to loosen Steve’s hole enough.  God-damn healing factor was a blessing and a curse, Tony mused.  He pumped harder, spreading the ring of muscle between his fingers until he could see the dark, pink channel inside, then added a third finger and more lube, pushing them in and out until he was satisfied.  He kept up the rhythm with his fingers and used his other hand to squirt the lube directly on his cock.  Eh, the sheets were toast anyway.  He rubbed it around his straining member until it slipped easily across his palm, then used the back of his wrist to nudge Steve’s leg up higher again.

“You ready?” Tony breathed out heavily.  Tony drew his fingers out and lined his cock up with Steve’s hole, not wanting to give Steve’s body any time to decide it needed to fix itself.  “Deep breath, okay?”  Tony ordered, then pressed the head of his cock past the reddened rim, feeling it stretch around him, then give as he sank into the heat of Steve’s body.  God, he was like some kind of molten vice, Tony thought hazily, hot and so God-damned tight, inner muscles clenching and rippling around the length of Tony's cock as his body adjusted to the invasion.  Tony forced himself to still for a moment, though it took all his willpower to do so.  He looked up at Steve’s face for any sign of pain or distress, but Steve had his head thrown back, neck arched and shoulders rigid while his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“Steve?” Tony panted.  “Steve?”  Dear God, if he’d fucked this up—

“Deeper,” Steve said, letting his shoulders relax against the bed, and head loll back, eyes locking on Tony’s.  “Harder.  More.”

Hearing his own words torn from Steve’s lips sent a spike of almost painful need burning its way through his belly and down to the tip of his cock.  He groaned and pushed into Steve, slowly, relishing the slide, the way Steve’s body moved against his, the muscles contracting and giving as Tony thrust forward until he was fully seated, his balls rubbing against the slick contours of Steve’s ass.  He pulled back, until the tip of his cockhead caught against the rim of Steve’s hole, then pushed all the way in again, earning a sharp, broken moan from Steve.

Tony shifted, widening his knees a bit and lowering his weight a bit and wound his hands under Steve’s legs, lifting them slightly to find the right angle, then pulled out and plunged in again, the head of his cock slamming against Steve’s prostrate, making Steve’s own cock jump and sending a fresh spurt of fluid across Steve’s chest.  Tony picked up his pace, withdrawing enough to feel the slick pressure as he thrust in again and again.  He knew he wasn’t going to last long, not with Steve clenching around him, almost sucking him in, and the soft, low moans that were echoing from Steve’s throat that Tony wasn’t even sure Steve was aware he was making. 

He reached up a slickened hand and wound it around Steve’s cock, rubbing it up and down a few strokes before wrapping his hand around the stiffened head.  He could feel the large vein on the underside throbbing against his palm.  He swirled the pad of his finger around the head and over the slit, pushing lightly against it and spreading it enough to rub against the sensitive tip just as he pulled all the way out and thrust hard back in again, burying himself to the hilt, pumping in and out, matching the rhythm as he stroked Steve’s cock. 

Steve gasped and cried out, his whole body shuddering again, hips jerking as he came.  Tony rode out the motion as Steve’s body drew up around him like a vice as he came in long, thick streams in Tony’s hand. As soon as he felt Steve relax, he pulled out and slammed in again and again, and then he was coming, hips jerking spasmodically against Steve as he spent himself inside him and promptly collapsed in a heap across Steve’s chest.

Tony groaned and forced himself up, bracing himself on wobbly hands on either side of Steve’s chest.  Steve was breathing deeply, but evenly, and he looked an utterly debauched wreck, his hair sticking to his head, bottom lip red from where he’d bitten it at some point and chest covered in his own come.  God, it was a glorious day to be alive, Tony thought. 

“This is going to feel really strange, so just relax for a minute,” Tony coaxed, then slowly pulled out.

“Oh,” Steve huffed out breathily.  Tony couldn’t help but glance down, mouth going dry as he watched a white trail of his come leak out of Steve’s hole and down the curve of his ass onto the bed. Yeah, the sheets were toast.  He got up on shaky legs and found his way to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, then grabbed another towel.  God, they were a mess, he thought, looking down at himself, a ridiculous smile forming.  He padded back over to the bed and knee-crawled over to where Steve lay unmoving. 

He pushed Steve’s legs apart again and ran the warm, wet cloth along the crack of his ass, dabbing carefully at his hole.  It was already tightening up, Tony noticed.  He felt he shouldn’t like that as much as he did, so decided not to mention it.  He got the rest of them cleaned up, then tossed the towels on the floor.  Looking down at the bed, he shook his head and grabbed the edges of the sheets and pulled them off the bed and out from under Steve, who lifted his hips helpfully when Tony tugged. 

Tony pulled the comforter up to cover Steve’s hips, then curled up next to him, winding one hand across his chest and burrowing into the crook of Steve’s arm that came up to wrap under Tony’s head. 

“So, uh, you okay there?” Tony asked with more than a little trepidation.  Please have liked this, please have liked, please have liked this, he mentally chanted.

“Clint is going to want to go all the way deaf.  No, wait.  I didn’t mean that. That’s horrible to say. I’m not—I shouldn’t—words.  I shouldn’t words,” Steve said with a frown.  Tony bit the inside of his cheek, then smiled down at him. 

“No wording for you, then.  Words bad,” Tony chuckled teasingly, part relief, part left over lack of blood to his brain. 

“Love you,” Steve murmured, voice thick and slurry with sleep. 

Tony crooked his neck to look up at Steve, his eyes already drooped low, breathing evening out, though his arm tightened under Tony at the movement.  “Words good,” Tony whispered.


	6. Interlude between A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Oblivion and Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was for something from this universe. This is set between the two stories. For those who haven't read them, short version: Steve runs out of SHIELD headed for Times Square, like at the end of TFA. But, instead, Tony runs into him with his car. Steve loses his memory, and Tony, being such a devoted philanthropist, takes him under his wing. Love happens. Then Loki happens. 
> 
> The second story in the 'verse, Shattered, is Tony watching the events of TWS and freaking out about it, so this is basically a bridge between those two stories.

“Okay, JARVIS, there is one part of secure communications line that you are really treating as a bit more of a guideline than a rule here,” Tony yelled to the ceiling as the incoming call from an unknown caller flashed onto the display in front of him.

“I think I told you that you couldn’t afford me,” Tony said by way of greeting when the phone call clicked on.  He forced himself to pause where he held the soldering iron against one of the shoulder joints of the Mark Let’s Not Do Those Numbers. He knew what the phone call was about, or _who_ the call was about, more accurately, and it was definitely not a conversation he needed to be having while holding something that could melt metal. 

“Well, let’s just say I thought you might be more concerned with the success of SHIELD’s mission than the last time we spoke,” Fury replied, his voice echoing loudly over the workshop’s audio feed. 

“Um, would that be because we’re besties now that you and your World Police tried to nuke me and a few million other fine New Yorkers?  How about I just braid your hair?” Tony asked, pushing the protective goggles off his face and wiping at his eyes. Damn Fury.  He’d been having a good day, working on the armor, checking on the relief and rebuilding efforts, flying over recently reopened cafes where certain supersoldiers ate their lunch.  The usual.  It had been going well, all told.  He’d only thought of a giant void into infinite space, oh, one or twenty times, and fucking Fury and his machinations, all because Tony wouldn’t play nice with the agency that used Steve, first to further Fury’s little pet project, and then to manipulate Tony, like the world’s most patriotic carrot.

 _Fuck_.

“No, that would be because I thought you might be taking more of, let’s say a ‘personal interest,’ in keeping SHIELD personnel safe these days,” Fury intoned smoothly.  “Making sure they come back all safe and sound.”

“He agreed, didn’t he?  Son of a bitch,” Tony ground out, his motions coming to a halt.  He put down the soldering iron and took off the goggles, tossing them and the gloves on top of the worktable.  He spun around on his stool to survey the empty workshop, then ran a hand up and down his face and through his hair in frustration.  He was so screwed.  He knew it. Fury sure as hell knew it.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that Steve wasn’t going to be happy playing Boy Scout, handing out bottled water and sandwiches and helping with the clean-up efforts.  It was always only a matter of time.  He had just hoped it was a matter of more time before Steve dove right back into the super-secret boy band gig.

“Come on, Nick, you’ve seen him.  I know you keep tabs,” Tony pointed out.  “That therapist SHIELD so helpfully provided?  Convenient, Nick.”

“Offered one to you, too, you know?  How many new suits you build this week?” Fury demanded, though not, Tony noted, without some actual concern tightening the other man’s voice. 

“I’m fine,” Tony responded automatically. 

“Uh-huh.  You keep telling yourself that.  Look, putting aside your highly weaponized coping mechanisms for now, I’m just saying, I see Iron Man has taken quite the interest in flying over lower Manhattan’s recovery efforts lately.  I’m supposed to believe that’s nothing more than your philanthropist side showing?  Pull the other one, Stark,” Fury observed mildly.  “He wants to serve.  You and I both know you’re not going to let that happen without having your fingers all over it, so can we stop playing tug of war with this particular bone?  I’d probably lose, I get that, but I also get the feeling you’d lose a hell of a lot more in the long run, and I think you know that, too.”

“He’s not ready.  You threw him at Loki, and look how well that went off,” Tony reminded him.  “We got played by some Medieval Times reject you put in a glass jar!  Damn it, Nick, he barely sleeps, and when he does, he still has nightmares. It’s like the tropics in our bedroom—“

“Really don’t need those details,” Fury interrupted.

“Because he needs to be warm when he wakes up or he panics,” Tony continued, ignoring Fury.  “He makes himself swim, every God-damn morning, even though he hates it, and I’ve never hated an inanimate object as much as I hate that fucking pool, I swear to God, I’m going to fill it with cement, and I’m telling you, you can’t send him out there without the team.  He isn’t ready.  I don’t care what he stood there and told you.”

“He was pretty insistent about getting back in the game, Stark.  Especially when I told him about how Howard and Peggy helped found SHIELD,” Fury said into the sudden silence where all Tony could hear was the throb of his heart, probably trying to suck in one of bits of shrapnel right about now.

“You told him,” Tony accused flatly. 

“It came up,” Fury replied.  “He was…surprised…that _you_ hadn’t mentioned that bit of history.  Me, too, to be honest, what with the Tony Stark Carousel of Progress you’ve been having him on lately.  What was last week?  The space program?”

“Like you don’t know,” Tony grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut as he let his head dangle to his chest.

“Private tour of Mission Control was a nice touch.  And I heard Senator Glenn was very excited to meet the Captain,” Fury responded.  “All I’m saying is that you’re awfully busy playing Aladdin on your little magic carpet ride, but you’re not showing him much of what little is left of his actual world.  Peggy would love to see him.  It might help.  It might help _both_ of them.”

“First of all, I’m deeply disturbed to hear you just throw down a Disney reference.  Second of all…he knows Peggy is alive.  I’m working on setting up a visit,” Tony responded, too quickly, he knew.  He could hear the defensiveness creeping into his tone, but damn it all, Nick was trying to force something for his own gain and pretend it was about Steve, and Tony knew he was letting his guilt and fear drag him right into the thick of it.  Exactly where Fury wanted him to be. 

“Working on setting up a visit?  Tony Stark is working on setting up a visit?” Fury demanded incredulously. 

 “You’re really going to hold me to the fire on this, too?  Low even for you, Mad-Eye,” Tony ground out, then let out a long, frustrated sigh.  “God, Nick, it’ll kill him to see her like that,” Tony said quietly, his head falling into the cradle of his hands where he leaned his elbows against the desktop.  “He’s got enough on his plate right now,” Tony finished, and he wasn’t begging, he wasn’t.  But, damn it, they were both barely holding it together some days, the only thing keeping them from spinning out of control was whatever it was that tethered the two of them together.  Steve had lost so damn much already, and he thought he still had Peggy.  The last thing Tony wanted was to be the one to take that away from him.

“How did keeping stuff from him work out the last go round?” Fury asked, rather ironically, in Tony’s opinion, considering the long list of shit Fury failed to mention, starting with the guy Tony nearly mowed down being Captain America.  Fury had lied about Steve.  Fury was probably lying now.  Or at least not telling the whole truth and nothing but, by which Tony meant, Fury was speaking words.  “Look, he wants to help.  You want to talk him out of it?  Good luck,” Fury offered.  Tony sighed heavily again, slowly shaking his head back and forth.  He’d lost this argument before it got started, right around the time Fury baptized SHIELD in the blood, sweat and tears of Peggy Carter.

“I’m not making weapons for SHIELD or anyone else,” Tony finally managed.  He thought it might have even sounded vaguely firm.

“Didn’t say anything about weapons, did I? I just figured you might want to rethink your stance on providing some technical support to our agency,” Fury suggested evenly.  “He could use a new uniform, to begin with.  One a little less propaganda and a little more spy.”

“Fine,” Tony said after a beat, then waited for the rest of the spy-shaped shoes to fall.

“Could use your help on the helicarrier design, too,” Fury continued, and damn if there wasn’t a smile the cagey bastard’s voice, Tony thought.  “Maybe you can suggest some improvements there.  Heard you got a good look at the engines.”

“Funny.  A regular laugh riot.  Gotta say, I don’t see what helicarrier engines have to do with keeping him safe,” Tony objected.  He wasn’t going to let Fury run roughshod over him just because Steve insisted that being all heroic and helpful involved actually being all heroic and helpful instead of just staying at the Tower, redoing the florals.  Which had really suffered in his absence.

“You’re right, of course.  I mean, the only time he was on one, it had some minor engine troubles and nearly fell from the sky, but I’m sure our enemies didn’t take note of that vulnerability,” Fury said smoothly. 

Actually, being run roughshod over wasn’t half bad, Tony thought resignedly.

“Anything else?” Tony asked with a flash of annoyance.

“That’ll do for a start.  You should know that Agent Romanov is going to be assigned to the strike team with him,” Fury casually mentioned, the grain of knowledge apparently Tony’s reward for agreeing so readily to Fury’s demands.  Tony decided he absolutely hated being manipulated while he knew he was being manipulated.

“Romanov is going to be with him?  Well, that’s something,” Tony conceded reluctantly after a moment.  At least it was a familiar face, and someone he distrusted just slightly less than most everyone else.  “You going to tell him she’s there to do the dirty work or just wait until he figures that out?  How did keeping stuff from him work out the last go round?” Tony parroted Fury’s own words back to him. 

“You want her on the team with him or not?” Fury bit out, then let the question hang in the silence for a moment before continuing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Come on, Stark, work with me here  This is SHIELD. We are not your enemy.  You help us out, you help him out.  Simple as that.”

“Yeah.  Real simple,” Tony grumbled half-heartedly as he cut the connection with Fury.  He knew he’d lost the argument before it ever began.  Fury had Steve working for SHIELD, which meant he had Tony by the short hairs, and Fury was hardly above using that to get what he wanted.

“Sir?” JARVIS called out, breaking Tony’s reverie.  “You asked to be informed when Captain Rogers returned to the Tower.  He is on his way up in your private elevator.”

“Does he look pissed?” Tony called out. 

“I am not sure how I would quantify such an emotional reaction in order to be able to fully answer your query, Sir,” JARVIS replied. 

“Do a facial scan and calculate the angle of his jaw,” Tony mumbled to himself, then mentally braced himself.  Fury’s words had gotten under his skin because he knew he should have told Steve about the origins of SHIELD, but he hadn’t, in no small part because he hadn’t wanted Steve to rush back into things, and Tony knew him well enough at this point to know that the name Peggy Carter was like ringing a damned bell for him. 

The workshop door hissed open, and Steve stepped through, carrying a white paper bag and looking like someone had ordered a construction worker-gram for Tony’s enjoyment. 

“Hey, you,” Tony called out with every ounce of nonchalance he possessed. 

“Hey.  Brought you some dinner.  From that little café you like so much?  I know you like it because you hover above it every lunch hour,” Steve said, raising his eyebrows and grinning slightly.  “I think the waitress there firmly believes I’m stalking you, by the way, though there is this nice older gentleman who keeps telling me he thinks I stand a chance.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Tony replied, returning the light smile.  “How’d your meeting with Fury go?”

Steve stopped his motions where he had been pulling various cartons and containers out of the paper bag and looked over at Tony.  “You already talked to him, didn’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”  Tony asked.

“You have the same look you get when DUM-E brings you one of those smoothies he makes the day before grocery day.  Like you’re trying really hard to just swallow it down and not ask too many questions,” Steve answered, eyeing Tony with that direct, open expression that was so hard not to take as a challenge. 

“He might have called,” Tony admitted carefully.  “Said you’d agreed to sign up with SHIELD.  I thought we’d talked about waiting.  Just a bit longer.  You’re not—it’s barely been two months since the invasion, and you’re—you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied softly.  “I know you worry, Tony.  Come on, don’t look at me like that,” Steve pleaded.  “I know we talked about waiting, but…Tony, being out there.  Seeing what was done to this city.  I can’t keep cleaning up when I could be doing something to stop this from happening again.”

“You are. We are.  We’re Avengers, remember?”  Tony countered.  “That’s what we’re supposed to be doing.  Fighting the battles that others can’t?  This SHIELD stuff, hell, it’s the very definition of battles that other people are handling just fine.  They don’t need Captain America for that terrorist bullshit.  They’ve been chasing that particular cheese since--“  Well, hell, he’d walked right into that one.

“Right.  I heard about that.  From Nick.  I know why he was telling me about Peggy and Howard.  What I’d like to know is why you didn’t,” Steve said, making it a question. 

Tony looked at him, a hundred thoughts racing through his head.  “Don’t think. Just answer,” Steve added, as if reading Tony’s mind.  “I’m not mad, Tony.  I just don’t understand.  You told me about how your parents died.  You told me about Peggy.  We’ve talked about SHIELD, and me joining them.  I know you have your reservations about that, and I do, too, but why not say anything about who founded it?”

“Because I knew as soon as you heard it was Peggy, you’d want to be a part of it,” Tony confessed.   You’d want to give that to her.  That’s why you haven’t pushed me to go see her.  I told Fury I was setting something up, and he called me on it.  What was I supposed to say?  That you don’t want to show up and tell her you’re pushing a broom on Eighth?  There’s nothing wrong with that, Steve.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking some time after all of this.  Hell, Aunt Peggy’d be the first to tell you that.”

“Taking some time.  Like you are, Tony?” Steve retorted.  “You need to build your suits, and I get that, I do, but I need to do something, too—“

“I need—“ Tony broke off, sucking in a harsh breath because all the air seemed to have left his lungs.  “I _need_ to keep you safe.  I can’t lose you,” Tony ground out, standing up so quickly, the stool’s wheels spun it back into the legs of the worktable with a metallic clang.  “I need to be ready,” he muttered, nodding his head for emphasis. “For the next time.  For what’s coming.  And it is coming, Steve.  I’ve seen it.  This wasn’t a one and done, dammit, you know that!”

“I do, Tony,” Steve replied quietly.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I—I didn’t mean it like that.  I know what you went through.”

“No.  You don’t,” Tony said dully.

“No, I don’t,” Steve conceded.  He walked slowly over to where Tony stood and gripped Tony’s upper arms, pulling him close enough until he could feel the warmth of Steve’s chest heating the space between them.  “But I know what it was like to watch you disappear and think I was never going to see you again.  You think I take my morning swims because I’m trying to prove something.  I’m not.  I’m trying to make sure if I have to jump in the ocean, I can do it without panicking.  Each day, it gets a little easier to put my head under the water, and one day, I might be able to do it without wondering if I’ll come up again.”

“Steve—“ Tony began, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say.  That he understood?  He did, on one level, but he also knew that there was only so much loss any one person could handle, and that line was probably already in Steve’s rearview mirror. 

“I don’t know if I can lead the team, Tony,” Steve confessed, blinking and looking away for a moment before his gaze found Tony’s again. 

“What?” Tony blurted out in confusion.  “Of course you can! What does that even—of course you can.  You’re fine.  Forget--forget what I said.  I didn’t mean that!  Hell, I’m the one who has the issues, really, we both know that.  If anyone shouldn’t be on the team, it’s me, let’s face it.  You’re—of course you can lead the team.”

“Can I?  Tony, all the cold, dark water in the world doesn’t terrify me as much as closing my eyes and seeing you fall.  You want me to lead, to give the orders that have to be given but could mean losing you?” Steve demanded, eyes bright and wide as he looked down at Tony, his grip on Tony’s arms tightening.  “I don’t know if I can do that, and if I can’t, then I have no business trying to do that.  This with SHIELD?  It’s a chance to do something, to serve, and yes, to prove something, but—“

“You need to put your head under the water,” Tony finished. 

“Yeah.  Yeah, I do,” Steve replied.  “But, Tony, it doesn’t have to be SHIELD.  If you don’t want me to work with them, I’ll find another way.  Something we can agree on.”

Tony let his head dip to the center of Steve’s chest and rested his forehead there for a long moment.  “No.  SHIELD is good.  Well, not good-good, but you know what I mean,” Tony muttered. 

“Natasha is going to be part of the team,” Steve told him.  “And I met the Strike Team leader today.  Rumlow.  Seems like a good guy.  You’ll like him.”

“Seems unlikely, but you never know.  You know anything about cyber-stalking?  No?  Good.  Don’t bother looking into it.  Nothing on the Internet about it, anyway.  I, uh—I might need to kind of keep an eye on things,” Tony replied, lifting his head to look back up at Steve.  “Just, you know, to be sure everything’s okay.”

“I think I can handle that,” Steve agreed.

“You’ll come back to New York between missions, right?” Tony asked.

“My home--that's you, in case you forgot-- is here.  Of course, I'll come back.  I was thinking I’d get an apartment there, just for when I had to stay over, but I was hoping I’d be able to arrange some private air transportation,” Steve responded with a grin. 

“I think we might be able to work something out,” Tony offered, returning the smile.

“You know, with Howard and Peggy behind SHIELD, you’d think they would have been able to come up with something a little catchier than the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.  I can barely say it,” Steve said after a moment.

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve, burying his face against the crook of Steve’s neck. “Well.  I can’t think of why, but I get the feeling they really, really wanted it to spell shield,” Tony replied.


	7. Hurt!Steve + Stuck in a Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two prompts in one! This is for a request for an injured Steve who was hiding his injury and another request for the boys stuck in Ye Olde Convenient Cabin. I apparently don't understand the meaning of the word "drabble."

“Ow!” Tony growled sharply, twisting away from Steve’s hands, a flash of pain marring his features at the effort.

“Oh, for the love--I haven’t even touched you yet,” Steve snapped back as he glared down at where Tony lay on the cot, his head pillowed on a dark green Army blanket that had clearly been providing nesting material for various animals for quite some time by the frayed edges and carefully chewed holes that covered it.  “Would you be still?”  Tony grunted in response, but stopped trying to turn himself into a human pretzel, whether because Steve asked it of him or because it just hurt too damned much, Steve wasn’t sure.

He looked Tony over again, noting the fine sheen of perspiration on his brow, the way his mouth was clenched tight, eyes wide and hands balled into fists.  Steve let out a frustrated puff of air and rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers.  It was clear Tony was in pain, though that in and of itself didn’t give Steve a whole lot to go on. 

Tony had been able to get the suit on just before the jet went down, thank God, enough to save his life and Steve’s, but Tony had borne the brunt of the impact, and suit or no suit, hitting the side of a mountain at that speed had done some damage.  Steve just hoped it wasn’t more serious than what he could see. 

Not for the first time since he’d woken up face down in the snow a few feet from Tony’s prone form, he wished Bruce was here to tell him what to do.  He had basic field medicine training, but he honestly wasn’t sure if he was helping or making matters worse.  Tony was wavering between insisting he was perfectly fine and claiming to see a bright light and someone named Jerry Garcia waving him through.

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand up and down over his face, trying to get his mind to clear.  He let his head dip to his chest for a moment, watching his boot scuff a streak in the dirt that covered the wood floor, disrupted now by their movements, making the place look like one of those how-to dance instruction sheets with the little feet making the steps all over the page.

“I swear, Stark, if you don’t keep still, I’m gonna tie you down,” Steve muttered half under his breath as he forced himself to look up and reached again to prod at the purpling skin around Tony’s ribcage where a large, red slash opened his skin from under his arm nearly to the center of his chest.  The wound was still oozing blood, not a good sign in these temperatures, but they’d had to move quickly and the makeshift dressing Steve had cobbled together from his utility belt and part of his uniform hadn’t held as well as he would have hoped.

“Wouldn’t have,” Tony grunted and coughed a bit, then bowed into a curve as the pain of the action wracked though his body.  “Wouldn’t have pegged you for having a kinky side, Cap,” he managed to gasp out after forcing several deep breaths to fill his lungs. 

Clear, full breaths, Steve noticed.  Good. At least it didn’t sound like a lung had collapsed, something he had been worried about as he carried Tony back to the tiny cabin he’d found clinging precariously to the side of the mountain.  He’d listened to the wet, wheezing sounds of Tony’s breaths in time with each dragging step he’d taken, and had wondered if he shouldn’t just turn around and wait for Hydra to find them.  Tony alive had to be worth more to them than Iron Man dead.  He wasn’t so sure about his own value to Hydra, but he’d found the shack and his desperation had given way to something like a plan, and letting Hydra play doctor with Tony started to take on a probably far more accurate nightmarish quality.   

“Well, let’s just say you haven’t seen it yet,” Steve replied, trying to find some humor in the old joke, but it just came out grim and tired sounding. 

“My…loss,” Tony panted around sharp intakes of breath and a pained smile that was more a grimace than anything. There were flecks of blood on his lips and teeth that Steve hoped was from where he’d bitten his tongue or something equally innocuous and not internal damage about which Steve could do nothing at this point. 

“I’m just going to look at it, maybe clean it up a bit.  Bruce can decide what more to do when they find us,” Steve assured him, hopefully sounding more sure of that scenario than he felt. 

The jet had been in stealth mode for the flight, which meant the team couldn’t track them, and they weren’t technically due back until early tomorrow.  Since the op was covert, no one would question it when they didn’t check in.  No one had expected anything near those kinds of perimeter defenses, not for something that was supposed to be a simple grab and go of some Shield tech that had fallen into the wrong kind of hands.  Hell, the team probably wouldn’t panic until they were at least a few hours overdue, which meant another fourteen hours or so before a rescue mission would even be considered, let alone successful. 

A lot could happen in fourteen hours.  

Tony rolled gingerly from his side onto his back and let his arms fall to his sides, seemingly in silent agreement with Steve’s plan.  Honestly, Steve would have preferred Tony giving him a hard time about this, making some of his ridiculous comments.  At least it was a distraction.  Too much of a distraction of late, he’d freely admit, but right now, he could use it.

Steve sat down on the cot, keeping his expression carefully neutral.  He pushed the tattered blanket down and looked again at the wound he’d only gotten a quick look at earlier before deciding that wrapping it tightly would have to do until he found them some shelter.  Steve could see Tony’s eyes tracking his movements as he got the small pot of boiled snow and what passed for the cleanest strips of the lining of his uniform that he could find.  Steve dipped one of the strips into the warm water and tested it against the back of his wrist, then dabbed gently at Tony’s wound.  Tony let out a hiss of air, though he didn’t pull away again or otherwise object. 

He took his time, making sure to get as much debris cleaned away from the area as he could before placing a few other strips in place over the ripped skin.  When he pressed against them, small bubbles of red appeared, but not as much as he worried he might see.  Tony’s eyes drooped closed, but he otherwise kept quiet and blessedly still while Steve finished up his attempt at a bandage.  Even though he’d been the one to tell Tony to keep still, the suddenness of it unnerved him, like all the oxygen had left the room.  He blinked against the feeling, waiting for it to pass before he finished up.

Steve sighed and forced himself to focus on Tony’s wound.  It seemed to have clotted for the most part, though there was a wider, deeper rent in the center, slashing just between two ribs that was still sending a thick runnel of blood down Tony’s torso.  He looked up and caught Tony’s eyes, then watched with some chagrin as the other man coughed out what might have been trying for a laugh, but came out as more of a wet, hissing sound.

“That bad, eh, Cap?”  Tony asked carefully. 

“No,” Steve replied, too quickly.  “No,” he repeated more firmly at Tony’s dubious look.  “It looks like it missed anything vital.  But.  Well, it’s still bleeding. Just a little.  I don’t have much of anything to pack and wrap it with though.  Nothing remotely sterile at any rate.”  The first thing he’d done after getting Tony settled was inventory the cabin, which had taken a depressingly short amount of time.  “Your kingdom for some duct tape,” Steve said with a shrug of his shoulders that he should have instantly regretted, but Tony smiled at that, and Steve decided it was worth it.

The cabin, if one were being charitable with the definition of cabin, was little more than a shack, with only the barest essentials.  The cot Tony was laying on, what was left of the blanket, the stove, which would have probably worked fine except for Steve’s certainty that if he lit that decades-old propane, it would likely incinerate the entire place, a small table and two chairs, and a few pots, pans and other wares, most of which were useless to them.  Some old hunting cabin, maybe, though whatever this place had once been, it had been abandoned, well, before Tony was born anyway, if the stack of Life magazines he found yellowing in the corner were any indication.  At least that might mean it wasn’t something on any maps of the area Hydra might have. 

Of course, hiding out in a place no one knew existed did tend to complicate any rescue scenario he could think of, but he was too tired to let that thought settle too long.  There was nothing he could do about it anyway. The team would find them or Hydra would, and no amount of thinking through those possibilities helped Tony right now.

“So, I’ll be bleeding out slowly, instead of quickly, then,” Tony said, a spasm of pain contorting his features as he shifted to look down at the gash.  “You ever think the things we’re grateful for leave a lot to be desired these days?

“Don’t talk like that,” Steve objected, too loudly, he knew, and winced at his tone, more accusatory than he’d meant.  “You’re not bleeding out.”

“Come on, Cap, you’ve got blood all over your uniform.  It stings like a sonofabitch.  How bad it is really?”  Tony demanded softly.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Steve replied, trying for a smile, though he was pretty sure he missed the mark by the knowing look on Tony’s face.

“I never should’ve let you watch Monty Python,” Tony groaned, but it was half-hearted.  Steve could see the lines of pain around Tony’s eyes evening out, his face relaxing a bit.  “What was I thinking?”

“Really, it doesn’t look that serious.  You sure this is all there is?” Steve asked, then continued at Tony’s nod.  “Look, I’m going to give you these,” Steve said, holding up the one morphine shot they all carried with them. Tony’s had apparently gone down with what had been left of the suit when the jet blew.  In his other hand, he held out a small plastic package with two antibiotic pills that Bruce insisted they carry.  He took those from the package and handed them to Tony first, along with a small cup of the boiled snow he’d set aside earlier.  Tony tossed the pills into his mouth, then drank down the water.

“Slowly,” Steve warned, though Tony ignored him, of course, and ended up spluttering around the water, coughing against the back of his hand as he tried to swallow.  “Alright,” Steve said, after Tony caught his breath.  He nodded at Tony’s hip and uncapped the syringe.  “Ready?”  Tony just eyed him steadily as Steve pulled down the undersuit enough to plunge the shot into Tony’s hip. It was probably a mark of just how much pain Tony was in that he didn’t make some kind of innuendo, Steve thought, as Tony stiffened at the jolt.

“I gotta pee,” Tony said after Steve pulled the syringe out.  “Before this stuff knocks me out.”  He was looking off to the side, not at Steve, obviously uncomfortable.

“Here,” Steve said, handing a small, metal kettle that was missing its lid to Tony.  “Use this.”  Steve turned to the side to give Tony a moment of privacy, then back around when Tony cleared his throat.  He took the kettle from him and made his way to the cabin door.  Once outside, he poured the contents into the snow, noting that there wasn’t any blood in the urine that he could see anyway.  Since he was up and outside anyway, he relieved himself, carefully not looking at what he was producing.  Ignore the issue.  Always a good plan, Rogers. 

At least it was snowing in earnest now, Steve noted, which should cover their tracks. He only hoped that anyone Hydra sent out after them would be conveniently stupid or lazy enough to assume they were buried under whatever remained of jet and not go looking too much further in this weather. 

He was also fairly sure that was the definition of giving himself false hope, but he couldn’t think of a better option at the moment.  Tony could. Tony would have known what to grab from the bits and pieces of plane parts and would probably have weaponized the cabin’s sad looking portable stove by now. 

But Tony had been unconscious and bleeding, and Steve had managed to get him out of the suit and behind a boulder just in time to watch what remained of the jet blow itself to dust.  He’d have to remember to tell Tony the auto-self destruct feature worked just dandy.  He readjusted his suit and went back inside.  Tony was laying on his back on the cot, arms at his side, staring up at the ceiling. 

“How’d I luck out to get the pretty nurse?  You make house calls?” Tony asked without looking at him.  Steve let it go without answering, willing to give Tony the cover for his discomfort that he needed. 

Steve walked back over to the cot and sat down heavily.  He could hear the rusted metal springs creak beneath him and wondered if they weren’t both going to end up on the floor, fighting tetanus on top of everything else, but the ground was cold and the temperature was dropping, and he wasn’t going to mention the two of them breaking the bed to Tony because…because he just didn’t want it to be a joke.  Best not to think much about that, he thought dully.

“I’ll keep pressure on the wound while you sleep.  Should stop bleeding soon,” Steve told him.  He tried to sound confident of that, as if he could somehow infuse Tony’s body with that certainty and maybe it would be enough.  He slid a hand under Tony’s head and gently lifted it, pulling the decrepit blanket out from underneath him.  Steve shook it out, sending dust and God only knew what else scattering into the room, then spread it over Tony.

“They say body heat is best,” Tony informed him, voice already sounding slightly slurry from exhaustion, the medicine, the reprieve from the pain or some combination of all three.  Steve looked the small cot over, then took a deep breath and picked Tony up enough to maneuver himself underneath, settling Tony between his legs and against his chest.  He closed his eyes and breathed out a long, low breath once he had Tony settled. 

“Jesus.  Didn’t think you’d take me up on it,” Tony said into the darkening cabin.  His voice sounded like he couldn’t quite get the right amount of air, either too much or too little making the words sound breathy.  Steve shifted Tony’s position a bit to straighten out his airway and keep him at a better angle, in case there was any fluid building up on his lungs.

Steve leaned back against the wall and trying not to wince, though he thought he may need to be more concerned with how much it didn’t hurt to move than how much it did.  As he watched the shadows grow to giants on the floor of the cabin, he reached over and rearranged the jerry-rigged bandage on Tony’s stomach, touching it experimentally.  It was dark red with blood, but at least it seemed to be half-dry.  He splayed his hand wide and pressed down.  “Let me know if that’s too hard,” Steve said.

“Should we discuss safewords?” Tony rasped after a moment. 

“You could let one go every now and then, Stark.  Like, when we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and you’re bleeding on me.  That might be a time to just let one fly right past,” Steve suggested evenly. 

He didn’t mind, not really.  Well, not exactly, anyway.  He wasn’t sure what it made him feel, except that he knew he should probably have put a stop to it a long time ago, but hadn’t for some vague reasons that never quite held up to scrutiny.  He wasn’t sure how to explain it, except that it wasn’t like he didn’t get the jokes.  He’d been in the Army, after all, where long stretches of time with nothing to do usually meant conversations about food or fucking or both.  There was something about the way Tony teased him though that always left him feeling like the kid who needs to have the joke explained to him though he was laughing along, trying to pretend he understood.

Steve used his other hand to tear an ad for Acme coffee out of one of the Life magazines stacked on the table next to the bed.  A smiling woman held out a steaming cup over the tagline.  ‘Husband Pleasing Coffee,’ it read.  He balled it up and tossed it into the metal stew pot on the floor by the cot in which he’d built a small fire with one of their precious matches.  It wasn’t much.  They couldn’t risk too much light, but even the small glow seemed to offer some warmth, though he suspected that might be the suggestion of warmth more than anything.

“You never tease back,” Tony mumbled, letting out a huff of air that sounded more chagrined than pained. 

“Wouldn’t know what to say to you,” Steve agreed.

Tony was quiet then, and Steve could almost feel the other man’s muscles going liquid as the morphine took effect.  Tony slumped a bit against Steve’s chest, like he’d been trying to hold himself up a bit and finally gave up.  “Anything,” Tony said, and it took Steve a minute to catch the thread of conversation.  “You could say anything, and it would be fine.  If you just, you know.  Wanted to talk.  Or something.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve replied, shifting Tony’s weight slightly while he pressed firmly against the wound on Tony’s chest.

“Beginning to think you don’t like me much,” Tony said vaguely.

“I like you just fine,” Steve admitted carefully.  Tony was suspiciously quiet at that, though it was probably the narcotic finally kicking in.  “Now get some sleep.”

“You’re the boss,” Tony replied, though for once it didn’t sound teasing, just tired, Steve noticed. 

Steve snorted in response, then clamped his eyes closed and bit down on his lip, immediately deciding that stillness was the best course.  

“You could try remembering that more often,” Steve suggested half-heartedly.  Truth be told, Tony’s tendency to challenge him made him a better commander and they both knew it.  Tony wasn’t and didn’t want to be a leader, but he was a damn fine second, because he’d push and push until he was satisfied, and when Steve managed to accomplish that, he knew he had something.  In a world where he had to make split-second decisions that could cost thousands of lives, certainty was a rare commodity, and nothing made him feel more sure than looking over and seeing Tony’s small nod when he was done arguing them into something better.

“I do try,” Tony said after a long pause in which Steve thought he had fallen asleep.  “It’s just never enough.  Or not the right kind of enough.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean,” Steve responded wearily.

“I know,” Tony said quietly.  “Bruce says you’re my inkwell.  No.  Wait.  That’s not right.  You have a ponytail.”

“So, that’s probably enough conversation, then,” Steve replied, caught between a confused frown and a grin at the rare instance of a drug-addled Tony who could barely string words together. 

“Okay,” Tony agreed readily, voice thick and rough and half-asleep.  “Don’t go,” he said suddenly, tilting his face up to look at, well, Steve’s chin, Steve supposed.  Tony’s eyes were wide and glassy, shifting over Steve’s face like they couldn’t focus, which was probably true, considering. 

“Not going anywhere,” Steve assured him.  He could feel sleep and probably something else pricking at the back of his eyes.  He wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t lying to Tony or himself or both. 

“I came back, so you have to stay,” Tony blurted out, seemingly apropos of nothing.  “She told me I couldn’t stay away, and she was right.  I think she meant the Avengers, though, because she saw before I did, but not really.  So, now you have to stay.”  He wasn’t making sense, but Steve could hear the agitation in his voice, so he just nodded and, well, petted Tony’s head for lack of a better description. It seemed to soothe the other man, so he didn’t allow himself to over think it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tony. I promise,” Steve said more firmly into the silence.  “Now, sleep,” Steve ordered, though it came out gentler than it had sounded in his head.  This time, Tony obeyed, or the drugs made the decision for him.  Either way, Steve could see Tony’s eyes close and mouth slacken as his breathing evened out.

It was silent in the cabin, except for the small crackle of the paper burning and Tony’s soft, raspy breaths.  Steve let his own eyes fall shut, careful to keep enough pressure on Tony’s wound to hopefully staunch the bleeding.  He couldn’t feel any more seeping through the strips of uniform lining, and decided to take that small boon for a positive sign.  God knew, they could use one.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he dozed before Tony’s movements woke him.  Tony was rarely still in life, and Steve had watched him nap enough on the jet between mission to know that not even sleep could keep Tony’s body from finding its way to motion.  He leaned over Tony’s shoulder to peer down at the bandages.  As he peeled his hand away, he saw that they were thankfully dry.  At least the bleeding had stopped. 

Though he had lost track of how much time had passed, Steve could see that it was full light out now, and their stew pot fire had dwindled to little more than embers.  Morning.  They’d slept through the night, apparently.  He reached over to the table and tore another page from the Life magazine, then tossed it into the pot, hoping some tinder would help, though the ball of paper just sat there, the edges idly blackening without really catching.  Not that the small flame had been giving them much warmth, but it bothered him that he couldn’t even manage that much for them.

“Nice shot, LeBron,” Tony wheezed,  voice high and tight, so the medicine must be wearing off, Steve thought, though he sounded stronger than he had before, at least to Steve’s ears. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

“Like I tried to chew my way through a really sweaty woolly mammoth,” Tony answered, smacking his lips together a bit as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Well, that’s an image,” Steve replied, trying to keep his voice even.  “Hungry?”

“No,” Tony said. 

“Great, you’re going to love the—“ Steve started, picking up the MRE that had been in his utility belt from the table and looking at the packaging.  “The ‘beef stew.’”

“Yum,” Tony spat out, his mouth curling into a grimace of distaste.

“You might be wishing for the mammoth in just a minute,” Steve conceded. He pulled the top of the pouch apart and started doling out the contents.  A packet labeled beef stew was first, along with the flameless heater that came in the kit.  He put the stew on the heater to warm, while Tony eyed the packet that swore it was coffee.  “Electrolyte drink,” Steve said, reaching for the bright green pouch and beverage bag to mix it in. 

“Heathen,” Tony muttered, but he took the bag when Steve handed it to him.  He drank it down without complaint, at least not an out-loud complaint, though Steve saw him making a rather horrified frown of distaste as he swallowed.  “What about you?” Tony asked, waving a hand at the packets of food. 

“Not hungry.  I ate one before I patched you up.  You were still out from the trip up here,” Steve replied, the lie falling easily from his lips.  He wasn’t hungry, that much was true.  That should probably concern him, since he was usually in some kind of suspended state of hunger nearly all the time, but it was hard to muster the energy to care.  To be fair, that could also pose some kind of concern.

“Here,” Steve urged, handing Tony the pouch of stew and packet of crackers.  “Try to eat.  It’ll help.”

“When we get back to the Tower, I’m ordering the entire menu from Gianetti’s,” Tony vowed, staring balefully at the plastic spoon full of what purported to be beef stew. 

“Count me in,” Steve replied.  He nearly missed the measuring look from Tony, gone before he could fully register it, like Tony had been caught at something.

“Good.  Good,” Tony repeated, more firmly.  “Gianetti’s for two—well.  Four,” he amended, looking speculatively over at Steve again.  Tony surprised himself more than Steve by finishing most of the MRE.  Truth be told, the new ones weren’t actually half bad.  He told Tony that, then found himself reminiscing about C-rations, small cans with something that claimed to be meat and a vegetable, as Tony sank back against his chest. 

“The labels would fall off the cans,” Steve explained.  “So, you never knew what you were going to get, not that it much mattered.  They basically tasted the same.  Bucky said he liked the beef and potatoes best though.  He’d always try to hoard those, and Fallsworth would give him hell about being responsible for the next potato famine.”

“Tweety got any new leads for you?” Tony asked as he picked at a loose thread on the blanket.  Steve suspected one good pull would unravel the whole damn thing, but made no move to stop him. 

“No,” Steve replied, leaving it at that.  He’d learned from experience that Tony didn’t really want to talk about Bucky, at least not finding Bucky and what that might mean going forward.  He couldn’t blame Tony for that.  He’d told him his…concerns…about what Zola had shown them.  Tony had dug far enough into the files Natasha uploaded to the Internet to figure out the rest.  He really had no idea how he was going to choose and wondered again when his mind had decided to set that up as a choice when there really wasn’t anything to choose between.  It was really easier that way, he told himself.

Absolutely easier that way.

“You should try to sleep some more,” Steve suggested when Tony tossed the last packet, someone questionably called simply ‘dessert,’ on the table. 

“We could play twenty questions,” Tony offered.

“We don’t play that,” Steve reminded him.

“Come on,” Tony all but whined.

“Fine.  Is it animal, plant or mineral?” Steve asked.

“All three,” Tony replied, almost sounding delighted.

“And this is why we don’t play twenty questions,” Steve said sourly.  “Last time, you picked quark.  How is anyone supposed to guess that?”

“Bruce got it in eighteen,” Tony argued. 

“Well, I’m not Bruce,” Steve said tiredly, running a hand through his hair and almost settling it on top of Tony’s head before he caught himself.  “I’m sure he’d have figured out a lot of things if he were the one here with you.  You two could’ve just done science and gotten out of here, solved global warming and fixed all the plot holes in Interstellar.” 

He really didn’t mean that to sound as bitter as it had.  After the debacle with Ultron, he’d been…concerned about how much time Bruce and Tony spent together.  That was a completely logical explanation of his feelings on the matter, he was mostly certain of that.   He shouldn’t be thinking about any of that now, but it was like whatever barriers he’d had in place were thinning up here, chipped away by worry and exhaustion and the rest of it that he currently wasn’t allowed to let himself think about.

“Sure, but those last two are easy,” Tony was saying.  “Admittedly, Bruce does have the annoying habit of figuring things out when he should just shut up about it already, like he’s one to talk.”

“Hmmm,” Steve murmured.  Normally, he would probably feel something entirely too much like hopefulness at Tony’s seeming annoyance with Bruce, but it was hard to muster that at the moment.  It took effort to care, and he’d spent what energy he had left for effort on Tony.  Now, he just wanted to rest.  “Sleep, Tony.”

Tony sighed, but didn’t protest any further.  At some point, Steve felt him relax against his chest again, his deep, even breathing soon filling the cabin.  Steve told himself he could have thirty minutes to rest, and usually, his internal clock would wake him nearly on the dot, but he opened his eyes to the sound of a swarm of insects filling the room and sat up too quickly, pushing Tony to the side and leaning over him before he realized it was the engines of a jet.

“Whashappnin—“ Tony spluttered, coming away with his usual lack of urgency to meet the day.

“You know, when I told you two to get a room, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Natasha observed mildly from the doorway.  Bruce brushed past her, medical bag in hand, and knelt down next to the cot.  He peeled back on the corner of the makeshift bandage and then nodded perfunctorily. 

“How bad is it?  Terminal, right?  Tell me, Brucie-bear.  I can take it.  I once binge-watched the odd numbered Treks.  I can handle the pain.  Lay it on me,” Tony demanded.

“You’ll live,” Bruce commented dryly.  “We found your shield, by the way,” he told Steve. 

“Really?” Tony asked, twisting to look up at Steve.  “I magnetized the thing for you!  It’s like you’re just trying to challenge me.  Drop it to the bottom of the Potomac, leave it on the side of a mountain, hey, no worries!  It’s not like it’s that important or one of a kind or irreplaceable or anything like that.”

"Had other priorities," Steve responded evenly, remembering Tony's blood, eerily bright against the white snow once he got the suit off.  Tony looked like he was on the verge of saying something else, then gave Steve a measuring, confused look and clamped his mouth shut hard enough to rattle teeth instead.

“I think he’s more broken up about it than you, Cap,” Natasha remarked with a smile, which quickly dropped off her face.  She nodded towards the floor under the cot, her eyes darting to Bruce’s, who followed her gaze.  “Okay,” she continued. “So, Clint and I will get slightly-broken Shellhead here to the jet.  Bruce, we’ll see you onboard.” 

With that, Clint came around in front of Bruce and slid his arms underneath Tony’s, lifting him up from the cot and to his feet, while Natasha slung an arm around his waist for support. Tony let his arms dangle over their shoulders and limped along towards the waiting jet.  Bruce’s gaze was fixed on the open door, watching as they reached the jet’s ramp and got Tony inside.

“So,” Bruce started.  “Can you even walk?”

Steve looked over at him for a long moment, then let his head fall back against the cabin’s wall with a soft thunk.  There was a sticky wetness behind and underneath him.  “Not likely.”

He could feel it now, the low, steady throb of pain in his chest and gut, like relinquishing Tony had opened a valve and let it rush in, all at once.

"How serious are we talking?"  Bruce questioned, pulling the dark green blanket from Steve’s hands.  He hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto it, and had to force his hands to open to let it go.

“I didn’t look,” Steve replied, suddenly queasy.  Now that Tony was in someone else’s hands, it was easier to let himself feel the pain, or else it had just gotten worse, and he wasn’t sure which one of those choices was more of a worry.  “The suit was stuck to the skin, and I didn’t want to pull it off.”

“Good call.  Repulsor burn the worst of it?”  Bruce asked, eyebrows raised in question.

“I think so.  Don’t tell Tony,” Steve mumbled, his eyes drifting closed.  “He saved us.”

“Natasha said you had need of me, Doctor?” Thor said from the doorway. 

“Yeah, help me with him,” he heard Bruce say, but it was distant, like the sound was coming through water.  Steve felt Thor’s arms moving under him, lifting, and then there was a bright, cold flash of pain and his stomach heaved, but there was nothing in it.  He heard someone shouting to turn his head to the side, and he tried to comply, but there was no air that way, there was no air anywhere, and he’d felt this before, except it had been cold then, so very cold, and the air had been freezing and wet and had filled his mouth and nose and pressed on top of his chest until he thought he would burst from it.  Someone was yelling next to his ear, and he gagged as something was shoved in his throat, and reached for it, but his arms were pinned and he couldn’t move, couldn’t get free, and there was no air here.

“I am sorry, brother,” he heard a deep voice say from someplace far away, and then there was a sharp pain.  And then there was nothing.

The next time he woke up, or, at least, the next time he woke up with his head clear, Steve silently amended, he was in a hospital bed, a familiar enough place for him to identify it immediately.  Monitors beeped next to him, and there was a half-empty bag of fluids hanging from a metal stand, connected to his arm by the IV line.  Bruce was sitting in an armchair that had clearly been dragged from somewhere else and placed in the room, tapping away at a tablet.  He must have made some kind of noise because Bruce’s eyes snapped up to his, and he stood up in a rush, glancing between Steve and the monitors. 

“Hey,” Bruce finally said, bracing one hand on the side of the bed and leaning over him.  “Well.  Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“What happened?” Steve asked.  Or, he meant to, anyway.  He was pretty sure it came out as a croaky sort of w-sound and some random vowels.  Bruce seemed to understand though.

“Something went almost clean through you.  The repulsor burn actually helped cauterize it, but you still lost a lot of blood.  A lot.  So much that the serum was having a hard time of it.  Collapsed lung. Major damage to the liver and spleen.  Third degree burns.  Five broken ribs.  Shock.  Sepsis, which was the big problem. And you broke two toes,” Bruce finished, the corners of his mouth turning down. 

"Hwlng?" Steve questioned, garbling the words, but at least they were starting to sound like something approaching words.  He worked his mouth around them again, trying to force his brain and tongue to cooperate at the same time.  "How long?"

"Nine days," Bruce replied, and Steve could hear a lot left unsaid in those words.  "Steve, you and I both know the power of the serum.  Can you please try not test its limits again?”  Bruce asked, though there was a trace of what must have been true worry still tightening his voice.

“Sry,” Steve mumbled. 

“Not me you’re going to need to get to calm down about it,” Bruce said.  “That would be our resident insane asylum patient, who will no doubt be here any minute because he’s been hacking my medical files since before the jet touched down at the Tower.  I swear to God, if I get one more text telling me the proper angle for airway elevation—Anyway.  I’ll keep him out of the way as long as I can.  You need some rest before you have to deal with that.”

“Is he okay? Was—was he here?” Steve managed, though the effort of actual words was far more than he would have thought.   There was something playing at the edge of his mind, like watching a home movie before it came into full focus.  A dark shadow moving around the room, circling the foot of his bed, talking, sometimes, sometimes just moving, back and forth, close but out of reach.  Sometimes just standing there, and he’d liked those times, felt safe.  And once—once he remembered thinking someone was upset, and that he should comfort them, and he’d tried to get up, but he’d been tied down or—no.  Not tied down, he realized.  The wires and IV lines running like a cat’s cradle from his body to the machines and medicines that were trying to help keep him alive, or tell Bruce what was killing him, he wasn't sure.

“He's fine.  The gash looked way worse than it really was.  And to answer your other question, while all the video of the room will likely show he wasn’t, yeah, he was here,” Bruce acknowledged with a somewhat exasperated look at Steve. 

“We didn’t really know what was happening.  Your vitals were all over the place.  Probably the serum, but,” Bruce shrugged.  “We had to intubate you at the cabin.  You stopped breathing.  When we got you on the jet like that, I thought Tony was going to have a heart attack.  I’m not saying this so you’ll, you know—whatever.  I don’t know.  Whatever it is with you two.  Just bear with him a bit, okay?  He’s a little--he was worried.  We all were, but Tony’s—well.  You know how he is with you.  So, when he comes in here and yells at you for being an idiot, cut him a little bit of slack, that’s all I ask,” Bruce finished, holding up his hands as if to ward off any objection Steve might be able to form.

“How he is with me?” Steve repeated, blinking in confusion, though he wasn’t sure if he was still sluggish from whatever concoction of drugs Bruce had come up with or just the fact that nothing Bruce was saying made much sense. 

“Well, last time he watched you die, we got Ultron,” Bruce reminded him.  “To say he doesn’t handle that possibility all that well is pretty much the understatement of the century.”

“That was a vision,” Steve said.  He wanted to ask more questions, but everything was already dulling, fading into the background.  He could feel his eyelids growing heavy. 

“Yeah, and now he just got to see it up close and personal,” Bruce replied grimly, then shook his head slightly, as if that would dislodge whatever concerns he was clearly having.  “Look, you just rest for now, okay?  When you wake up, we’ll see if you’re up to visitors or if I need to put Thor on the door.”

When he woke up again, Tony was asleep in the armchair, and Thor, Steve could only assume, was enjoying either his lifetime supply of Pop-Tarts or a sudden visit from Jane.  Bruce never stood a chance on that one, Steve reckoned with a slight smile.

“Hey,” Steve said softly.  Tony stirred in the chair, blinked, then sat up like a jack-in-the-box. 

“You’re awake,” Tony observed.  “Good,” he continued, standing up, taking a deep breath and seeming to gather himself as he stared down at Steve.  Well, this isn’t going to go well, Steve had just enough time to think.  “You shit.  You utter and complete idiot.  What the hell were you thinking?  You were—you were bleeding all over the fucking bed.  It was on the floor, Steve.  You—you were hurt, and you—how could you not say anything?  You let me lay there like a fucking invalid, when I was the one who—it was me—it was me who--and you just let me lay there and make stupid fucking jokes and play games and eat the only food we had, and yes, I checked, you asshole, and _you were dying,_ Steve!”

“We’d both have died if you hadn’t gotten us out of there.  Pretty sure not even I can survive a plane exploding.  By the way, that auto-destruct might need some tweaking,” Steve tried for humor, and apparently missed, because Tony’s expression was thunderous. 

“You were dying, and you were just, what, going to let me figure that out after you stopped breathing?”  Tony shouted down at him.  He threw his hands wide and spun around, letting his hands settle into fists at his sides, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at Steve.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, Tony.  The medicine we had wouldn’t have done much of anything for me, and I couldn’t have kept any food down anyway.  There was no point in telling you,” Steve tried, he thought rather reasonably, but he wasn’t sure by the way Tony’s whole body stiffened.  It had seemed reasonable at the time, stuck up there in the cabin with no idea of what to do, but even now, only a week or so removed from it, it had already taken on some kind of a hazy, dreamlike quality, and he wasn’t sure how much had been his mind telling him what he needed to hear to handle the issue of Tony being injured while his own body systematically shut itself down.

“No point in telling me,” Tony repeated dully.  “Well.  Here’s the fucking point for you.  If I’d known that I might not get to yell at your dumb ass again, I might have laid off the sexy nurse jokes and told you that I am swelling music, meet on the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day, eat one long spaghetti noodle together, carry you up the staircase, read from your stupid notebook, hold a boom-box over my head outside your window, you complete me kind of crazy in love with you.  So, there.  That’s what I could’ve done.”

“Oh,” Steve gulped.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.  Oh.  So, now you know, and you’re going to be fine, and you’re still an idiot, and—“ Tony started babbling, moving towards the door.

“I understood those references,” Steve called out.  Tony came to a halt, one hand on the door to Steve’s hospital room. 

“Great.  Clint’s movie night choices have finally paid off,” Tony interrupted, voice bitter and raw. 

“I understand them about you, Tony.  That’s—that’s how I feel about you, too,” Steve confessed quickly, before Tony could bolt.  Tony’s hand fell form the doorknob, and he turned slowly to face Steve, disbelief and something like hope warring for prominence on his features.  “And if I’d realized I might not get to see you again, I would have told you that I am drag you to safety, give you the medicine, keep you warm, let you have the food, pray for rescue, want to wake up and see you kind of crazy in love with you.  Tell me you would have done any differently if our positions were reversed.”

Tony stared down at him for a long time, but Steve could tell the moment he seemed to accept what it was Steve was offering from the way his shoulders slumped and the lines of his face relaxed, eyes going soft before he caught himself and smiled wickedly.  “No worries, Cap.  I got nothing against reversing positions.”

“Couldn’t just let that one go, could you?” Steve huffed out in exasperation, trying to keep from smiling because Tony would count that as some kind of a weird win.

“I don’t do so well at letting go of the really good things,” Tony murmured as he traced a finger over the bright red numbers displayed on one of the monitors that showed Steve’s pulse.  It was slowly counting up, he noted, as did Tony by his speculative look.  “The ones that really matter.”  Steve could feel his face heating, and there was nothing speculative about the look Tony was giving him now, dark and filled with a promise that made Steve’s mouth go dry.

“Me neither,” Steve said.

“Good,” Tony replied, low and fierce.

 “Um, guys?” Bruce said as he poked his head in the door, looking slightly satisfied and not remotely surprised.  “I need to change Steve’s IV bag and Tony, you need to explain to Jane about how there is no Einstein-Rosen bridge in Central Park, and you both look like giant dorks, by the way, though at least Steve has the excuse of being on something.”

“I’d like to be on—ow, ow, okay, I’m going,” Tony smirked as Bruce grabbed him and dragged him bodily towards the door. 


	8. Gift With Purchase Remix Bonus Chapter (aka Hooker!Steve fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt request was for something from Gift With Purchase Remix. If you haven't read it, I don't know how much sense this will make, but basically, Steve is a hooker because he needs money for his mom's medical bills (I know), and Tony picks him up and sweeps him away from the clutches of Hammer, who had Very Bad Plans for dear Steve. 
> 
> This is intended to fit between Chapters 5 and 6 of the original story and flesh out their relationship a bit. If you just want the smut, it's about 2/3 of the way down and features bottom!Steve.

“You already wore that one last week,” Bucky said, barely glancing from the video game he and Clint were currently engrossed in long enough to eye Steve’s third shirt option. 

“Well, this is the last clean one I have,” Steve muttered, tugging at the ends of the shirt to look down at it, as if it would suddenly improve upon further inspection.  Maybe he could wear it with the lighter khakis and it would look different than it had last week? 

“That’s because you arrived on our doorstep with everything you own shoved into a pillowcase.  A Pokemon pillowcase, I might add, which I actually remember sleeping on back in New York.  When we were ten, Steve.   Ten,” Bucky reiterated without taking his eyes from the game. 

“Dude, just tell Stark you need some clothes that will look good on his floor,” Clint suggested with a slight snicker, leaning into Bucky as he maneuvered the game controller.  “You die again and no way you get any of my elixir!”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, ‘Hawkeye.’  If you could hit any of those things, I wouldn’t need your stupid elixir,” Bucky retorted, shoving back at Clint’s shoulder.  “Steve, you look fine.  Quit worrying.  Stark isn’t going to give a shit about your shirt.  You know why he isn’t going to care about what you’re wearing or you want me to spell it out for you?” Bucky asked, glancing his way again with a disapproving frown.   

“No,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips and trying to look anywhere but at his best friend, who was, even Steve had to admit, not entirely wrong.  He just wasn’t sure if Bucky was entirely right either, and it was the space between those two things that was driving him crazy.  What had started out as sex for money had turned into, well, sex for money, but with some sort of strange almost-friendship thing forming between him and Tony over the past month or so he’d been making his regular visits to Tony’s house. 

They watched movies in Tony’s ridiculously over-the-top media room.  Tony went through some sort of elaborate introduction ritual for his robots that involved him basically saying, “That one’s DUM-E.  If he even looks at a fire extinguisher, throw something at him,” but clearly meaning something entirely different. 

And they talked.  A lot.  Sometimes so much, it was like they’d been storing up words until they met someone to share them with.  He would never have thought the two of them could carry on a conversation, much less have anything in common.  It made no sense, he knew.  When he found himself trying to explain it to Bucky, it sounded like he was reaching rather desperately for a connection that, by all rights, shouldn’t be there.  Their worlds were so very, very far apart.  That didn’t seem to stop them, though.  Whatever topic one of them found themselves on seemed almost to have been waiting for the other one to fill in the gaps and make it make sense somehow. 

Tony worried about the company, about the new direction he wanted to take it in, and Steve may have absolutely zero knowledge of corporate transitions, but he knew about feeling responsible and having to make choices that were going to affect people who depended on you.  Which was exactly the kind of circular thinking that got back to Bucky’s point.  He was all his mom had, and he couldn’t forget that this thing with Tony was ultimately a transaction.  Tony wanted him, not his problems.  Sure, Tony would talk to him and laugh with him and argue over just about anything with him, which Steve swore sometimes was only for Tony to see if he could get a rise out of Steve, but at the end of the night, Tony wanted Steve in his bed.  That fact that Steve enjoyed being there was something he should probably be thankful for, but it seemed to just complicate matters all the more each time Ms. Romanov handed him that fat envelope of cash.

That was the whole point of this, of course.  The money. It had been his decision to do this in the first place, not something Tony had pulled him into.  No one forced him to do this.  It was his choice. 

Maybe if he kept saying it, he would eventually believe it.  The truth was…this choice was always going to be the last result of a desperate lack of choices and while he could own it, shining it up and pretending this thing with Tony was something it wasn’t did no one any favors, him least of all. 

It was getting progressively more difficult to reconcile how much he enjoyed being with Tony with how much he hated why he was there.

He shouldn’t want this.  But it was like there were always two different tracks playing in his head, the one that loved how Tony made him feel, that wanted to spend time with him, looked forward to seeing him, and the one that hated that he allowed himself be used for whatever this was for Tony and despised himself even more for taking any enjoyment from it.  He should hate this.  He was supposed to hate this, hate Tony and everything he represented.  Sometimes, he thought it might actually hurt less if he did truly hate it, but while he could easily draw from the well of shame when it came to his own actions, those feelings never drifted over to his thoughts of Tony. 

“Look,” Bucky said with a resigned sigh when Steve continued to stare down at his shirt as if he could will it to transform.  “Grab something out of my closet.  It’ll be too tight on you.  He’ll probably love it.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quickly, deciding for now to ignore Bucky’s jibes, if for no other reason than he really didn’t know what to say in response.

It was Saturday, and miracle of miracles, he hadn’t pulled a shift at the construction site for once, so when Tony invited him up for the day, he was free to go.  He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, getting to spend all day with Tony instead of just the evening.  Some odd mixture of excited and ashamed at being excited, which seemed to be his usual state of being when it came to Tony.

Steve walked into Bucky’s room and pulled a navy V-neck off one of the hangers and quickly switched it for the shirt he was wearing.  It shouldn’t matter so much, except that, for whatever reason, he didn’t want Tony to see him in the same clothes over and over.  He chanced a quick look in the small mirror above Bucky’s chest of drawers and smoothed his hair down. 

“Steve,” Bucky said from where he leaned against the doorway.  “You really think wardrobe combination is going to somehow fool him into thinking you’re there for his winning personality?  Come on.  He knows why you’re doing this.”

Steve focused on Bucky’s reflection in the mirror, then let his gaze dip down at his outfit, not meaning for it to be quite such an admission.  Bucky had always been able to see through him though, even when he couldn’t see himself. 

“I just—“ _don’t want to hurt him_ , he thought, though that was crazy.  Tony knew what this was.  _Keep the client happy_ , he could hear Ms. Romanov’s voice echo in his mind.  Making Tony happy felt good, he wasn’t going to deny it, the way Tony smiled at him at the end of the night, in that soft, relaxed way, looking at Steve, touching him and telling him how good, how beautiful he was.  He liked the way that made him feel, like he’d accomplished some feat that actually meant something, however ridiculous that sounded the next morning.  It was just that he was pretty sure this was not the kind of job satisfaction the lady in career counseling back at the art school had in mind.  “I just wanted to look nice, Buck.  Don’t read so much into it.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, twisting his mouth into a grimace.  “Sure.”

Steve heard the buzzer sound, which meant Happy was here to pick him up.  As he made to brush past Bucky, the other man braced his arm against the doorframe, effectively blocking Steve’s exit.  “You gotta be able to walk away from this when it’s done, Stevie,” Bucky said, voice low and tight.

“I will.  Of course, I will.  You worry too much.  It’s fine.  Really.  Clint likes what he does, right?” Steve grumbled.  “You don’t give him a hard time about it.”

“Clint’s a hedonistic, self-centered, morally bankrupt, gutter-dwelling, sarcastic little shit,” Bucky said.  “And he hates what he does, Steve.  He’s wanted out for ages, but he’s been doing this since he was younger than he should’ve been, but it put food in his and his sister’s bellies when their Dad spent his Friday paycheck on booze and smokes by Sunday.  He sends money back to her, you know.  Even though he hasn’t seen her since he dropped out of school and got the hell out of that house.  She’s got three kids, another on the way, no husband, and Clint’s one of the last two good guys left in the world.  He’s been saying he’s going to get out of this for the whole three years I’ve known him, and here we are.  Everyone’s got a reason they got into this.  You gotta have a reason to get out,  and I see how you get when you go to see him.  If that reason needs to be me giving you a ‘hard time’ about it, then fine.”

“I didn’t,” Steve started, then cleared his throat, looking over at Bucky.  “I didn’t know that.  About Clint.  God, I’m an ass.  I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Well, to be fair, Clint’s a dick,” Bucky admitted with a slight grin.  “Your ride’s here.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said after a brief hesitation.  “I mean it.  Thank you.”

“Ah, get out of here, you loser, before we hug or something,” Bucky said, turning back down the hall to join Clint on the sofa again, picking up the bowl of candy from the coffee table and digging around in it with his fingers.  “You ate all the red and purple Skittles?  Really?  Who does that?”

“Literally?  Like, everyone,” Clint said, handing Bucky the other controller.  “The orange ones don’t totally suck.”

“This is why you have no friends,” Bucky grumbled, smirking and nodding his head a bit at Steve as he walked past. 

It was his first visit with Tony during the day, and he wasn’t entirely sure what they’d be doing.  Spending all day in bed seemed a little overly optimistic, given what little he knew about Tony’s heart condition, though he wouldn’t mind if Tony just wanted to— _do not say cuddle_ , Bucky’s voice echoed in his head—hang out. 

On impulse, he grabbed his sketchbook and his box of charcoals, just on the off-chance that Tony needed to work.  He’d spent some time after their dinners sitting down in Tony’s workshop with him while he puttered, or, you know, invented world-changing technologies, whatever.  Mostly, Steve played with the bots or read on the tablet that appeared on the arm of the sofa the second night they’d found themselves down there.  But, he could always try sketching again, if inspiration struck Tony.  He hadn’t even opened the damn thing since New York, but almost as soon as he picked it up, his head started to fill with the images he could draw, careful hands soldering metal, wide, full lips curved into a rakish grin, a forehead creased with concentration, dark, intense eyes illuminated by the glow of the tablet.

Steve shut the door on the Bucky and Clint still arguing about proper candy etiquette and walked down the stairs and out of the building.  Happy was waiting at the curb next to a vaguely European-looking car that Steve couldn’t identify for the Tony car bingo he was mentally playing.  He’d put Ferrari in the center square before he really got a chance to know Tony, and now realized he should’ve gone with an Audi or something more like a Saleen or Shelby.

“Hey, Happy,” Steve called out as Happy pulled open the rear door for him. 

“Morning!” Happy replied, smiling readily.  “Good to see you,” he continued, bobbing his head in greeting, as if he hadn’t dropped Steve off here just last night.  Not for the first time, he wondered what Happy thought about all this.  The man wasn’t nearly as dense as he came across on initial meeting.  They talked on the drive up to Malibu, nothing of consequence, but Steve liked Happy and the nonstop chattering from the front seat gave him a chance to relax and let his mind slowly discard all the worries that seemed to weigh him down whenever he wasn’t with Tony.  Steve was aware of what he was doing, letting time with Tony be the equivalent of a trip into Wonderland, where he didn’t have to think about his responsibilities or wonder about just what the hell he was going to do in that suddenly-not-so-distant place called the future when he didn’t have this.

“Boss was up early this morning,” Happy reported. “Haven’t seen him up and about like that for awhile.  Has some project going.  Something big, he said.  Sometimes, when he gets some idea in his head, he’ll forget everything that isn’t those machines a’his.  Well.  Most everything,” Happy clarified, giving Steve a quick glance in the rearview mirror.  “Used to do that all the time.  Been awhile, you know?  Since he’s been all excited about something, I mean.  Afghanistan,” Happy said at Steve’s questioning look, as if that word explained everything, and Steve supposed maybe it did. 

“Oh,” Steve said dully, unsure what to say to that.  He knew enough from the articles he’d found on the library computer to know the basics of the kidnapping and Tony’s purported reclusiveness since what had apparently been a disastrous press conference upon his return.  Steve hadn’t had the heart to watch the video yet.

“And here we are,” Happy announced as they pulled up to the gates, which slowly swung open, allowing the car to pass through. 

Happy pulled around the circular driveway and dropped Steve off at the front doors.  Steve had been here enough now to know that the doors would be unlocked for him, so went on it, calling out a hello to Jarvis as he did. 

“Welcome back, Mister Rogers.  Sir is in his workshop and will be up momentarily.  He asked that I advise you that breakfast is waiting for you on the balcony,” Jarvis responded.  Steve could almost swear the AI sounded pleased, which was both amazing and unsettling.

Steve made his way out to the balcony, stopping for a moment to take in the glorious view.  A part of him still couldn’t believe he was here, in a place like this.  He looked over to the table where a buffet of various breakfast foods waited, along with carafes of coffee, juices, and a chocolate milk that he knew was for him, because Tony had asked him his favorite drink one time and that had been his answer.  Tony had spent a good two minutes laughing with obvious delight at that.  Steve had been trying to figure out the insane number of options offered by the TV’s remote without either setting off a nuclear attack or getting the TV stuck on Spanish and failed to realize that when Tony asked him his favorite drink, he’d been standing at the bar with two glasses sitting on the countertop. 

It didn’t take more than looking at the food to realize he was starving, his bowl of Lucky Charm marshmallows and Wheatabix--because dammit, who let Clint do the grocery shopping?—already long gone from his stomach.  He piled a plate high with croissants, muffins, fruit and crispy strips of bacon, grabbed the chocolate milk and sat down at the table, letting the sun warm him as he looked out over the expanse of blue ocean. 

“Hey,” he heard Tony say from behind him and turned around in his seat.  Tony was leaning against the glass doors that opened onto the balcony, wearing one of his dark t-shirts with the name of some heavy metal band emblazoned across it and jeans, like he’d been working, though his feet were bare. 

“Hey, you,” Steve said softly in reply as he looked down at his plate full of food and quickly wiped what he was fairly certain was the remains of an impressive milk moustache off his face, feeling embarrassment start to creep up his neck.  Just once, he’d like Tony to find him doing something amazingly cool or refined instead of halfway between pathetic and ridiculous.

Tony was smiling at him though, a pleased, sort of satisfied grin that widened as he approached.  “I see you found breakfast to your liking,” Tony said as he made a much smaller plate for himself and grabbed the coffee, clutching the metal carafe in the crook of his arm like a beloved teddy bear. 

“Looks fantastic,” Steve replied quickly.  Tony sat down opposite him and poured his coffee, picking at his food while Steve tried to do the same instead of wolfing it down.  Every time he looked up, Tony was staring down at his plate or the ubiquitous tablet he carried everywhere, seemingly uninterested, but Steve could see a small smile tugging at Tony’s lips that he was fairly certain was over his own efforts not to basically look like one of those colorful plastic, and very hungry, hippos as he ate. 

“Happy said you’d been working on a project?” Steve asked, hoping against hope this wasn’t the point in the day’s visit where he got to sound like an utter idiot.  “Something big?  Is it for the, uh, clean energy thing?”  Steve asked, trying to sound at least reasonably aware of what was going on.

“Could be a game-changer, if it works,” Tony said.  “Which,” he amended, drawing out the word. “Is a big if right now.  I’ve been wanting to move the company in this direction since—well, for awhile.  But, it’s been one setback after another, either with the Board or the research.  I don’t know,” he continued at Steve’s questioning look.  “Just couldn’t focus.  Too much in my head.  Sometimes--sometimes it gets too loud.  Can’t think.  Can’t see it like I used to, before—well, before.  I don’t know.  It’s—very frustrating.”

“That happens sometimes when I’m trying to sketch something.  I can see it in my head, the way it needs to look when I’m done, but I can’t—I can’t reduce it to the parts to get it there.  I have to sort of, like take it apart, I guess.  Piece by piece and build the work until it starts to come together.  But then, when it does, when I can see the cohesion, see it becoming, it’s the most amazing feeling,” Steve said.  He could hear the tug of wistfulness in his voice, and realized just how much he’d missed his art, not just because of the work itself, but being able to do something he loved, that made the world a little bit better, a little bit more beautiful. 

Tony was staring at him, mouth somewhat agape, before his eyes narrowed and expression went shrewd.  “Yes.  Yes, exactly that.  You said it better than I could, I think. Not many people manage to surprise me,” Tony remarked, still looking at Steve a bit oddly, and Steve recognized the expression as the same one that would sit on Tony’s face while he puzzled over whatever it was on the schematics of his.  “So, you’re an artist.  I should have known.  You stare at the artwork sometimes,” Tony explained when Steve opened his mouth to ask.  “I thought you were just like me and couldn’t figure out what in the holy hell it was supposed to be.”

“Um, yes.  Well, no, I mean, I’m not—I’m not an artist, not really,” Steve corrected.  “I mean, I do some art.”  Do some art?  God, please let him be struck mute.  “Charcoals, mostly.  Some painting, but—“ _paints are expensive_ , his mind finished.  “Mostly charcoals.”

“Have you thought about art school?” Tony asked as he picked at his breakfast and poured himself another cup of coffee.  It was all very nonchalant, but there was a tight sort of hesitancy to his movements, like he was holding himself in check.  “There are several reputable ones nearby.  They would,” Tony started, then cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee.  “They would probably have scholarships available.  If you wanted to look into that.” 

“Ah, no.  Maybe one day.  I don’t know.  I’d have to get a portfolio together, and, it’s really competitive, and, well,” Steve stammered, letting his gaze fall down to his plate.  It looked like a French bakery had exploded in front of him.  How did Tony manage not to get crumbs everywhere? Steve brushed at his shirtfront and pants, trying to make it seem casual and not an attempt to ward off becoming some sort of very large birdfeeder.

“Hmm,” Tony said noncommittally.  “Well, I hope I can get the pieces to come together, as you put it.  And soon.  The Board won’t want to move forward with the project if I can’t show them some results.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Steve said confidently. 

“You don’t even know what it is,” Tony replied with an abbreviated laugh. 

“Well, no.  But, I’ve never met anyone near as smart as you, so the way I see it, if it can be done, then you can figure out how to do it,” Steve explained with a  shrug and reached for another blueberry muffin.  That just made sense, as far as he was concerned. 

“That so?”  Tony questioned.  His tone was light, but there was something underneath it, a sort of hesitancy that Steve didn’t usually associate with Tony. 

“Yep,” Steve answered agreeably.  “Do you think it can be done?”

“Yes, obviously, or I wouldn’t be wasting my time,” Tony replied, his gaze focusing in on Steve, head tilting to the side like he was trying to anticipate whatever it was Steve was going to say.  “I have been more inspired lately.”

“Well, why would you think you couldn’t do it, then?” Steve asked. 

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it and turned his head to look at the horizon.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know a lot of things about me lately,” Tony said, so quietly Steve almost didn’t catch it over the pounding of the surf.  “So, was it art that brought you out here?” Tony asked far more brightly as he turned back to Steve.  “You’re clearly not a native.”

Ms. Romanov’s admonition flashed through Steve’s mind at Tony’s words. They don’t want to know, not really.  Don’t confuse polite interest with the client actually wanting to hear about the problems or dreams they’re exploiting.

 “Brooklyn, originally,” Steve acknowledged with a grin as he thought of home.  “My mom is here,” Steve heard himself say.  “And Bucky.  I’ve known him since we were kids.  He said he could get me on at the construction company.  So, it just seemed like as good a place as any.”

“No art school…aspirations of acting?  Modeling?” Tony asked, seeming to take some kind of amusement in the idea. 

“Pretty sure I’d be rather fantastically awful at either of those, but no.  No, just family stuff,” Steve said as casually as he could muster.  He went back to picking at the detritus of croissant left on his plate, his mind searching for a way out of this conversation.  

“I’m sure she’s glad to have you close by,” Tony said mildly, and it was a simple, casual, statement, nothing more, but it hurt to hear, and it hurt worse to have to agree.

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve replied, turning his head towards the ocean.  “I hope so.”

“You must not get to see her much, between work and…here,” Tony observed, sounding almost unsure about it, a tone Steve didn’t usually associate with Tony.

 _Sundays, I see her and I try to hold it together until the need to not see her anymore outpaces the guilt of not wanting to see her like that,_ he thought, but he said, “I’m going by tomorrow.  Sundays, that’s usually when I see her.”

“Ah.  Good,” Tony smiled.  “That’s good.”  He looked for a moment like he was going to say something more, but then went back to ritualistically picking at his breakfast without actually managing to eat much, something Steve had seen him do each time they ate together.

“So, um,” Steve said after the silence started to lengthen into something that was approaching awkward.  “If someone leaves a bowl of Skittles out, as in, they are group Skittles, and then someone else decides to eat all the red and purple ones, which, I think we can all agree are the best, is it an appropriate punishment to remove all the marshmallows from said Skittle-thief’s Lucky Charms and just leave the cereal parts that no one likes or is that a toe over the line?”

Tony looked at him blankly for a moment, then put his coffee cup down and leaned back in his chair.  “What is your life?” he demanded incredulously, but he was smiling, wide and carefree, so Steve counted it as a win.  They discussed the relative merits of a proportional response, at least as it related to candy thievery, for a good half an hour while they finished breakfast and Tony downed the remainder of the coffee.

When breakfast was done, they packed up the food in containers or baggies and put it in the fridge.  Steve had now become convinced this little ritual was Tony merely humoring him because it wasn’t as if he showed up and they just popped leftovers into the microwave.  Hell, last Wednesday, there had been a chef in the kitchen when Steve arrived, talking animatedly with Tony in Italian.   

“I thought you might like to go down to the beach for a little while today,” Tony suggested evenly as he handed Steve the last bag of muffins.  “It’s private.  You can swim or read. Or just enjoy the sun.  Whatever you wanted,” Tony finished with a slight shrug, as if he didn’t care, but he was rifling through a stack of mail someone had left on the countertop and Steve was pretty much certain Tony  wasn’t intent on finding out what this month’s Amex bill might be. 

“You don’t need to work?  I don’t mind keeping you company, if you do,” Steve offered.  “DUM-E is _this close_ to, well, okay, not actually catching the ball, but knocking it in my general direction.”

“I—I actually thought it would be good to be out today.  Haven’t been out much lately.  Water’s supposed to be calm, so,” Tony said carefully.  He cleared his throat and gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, then seemed to relax, tracing out a pattern in the marble with his finger. 

“Sure, Tony.  That sounds great.  I, ah.  I don’t have any trunks, though,” Steve responded.

“I have some for you.  Don’t worry,” Tony said quickly, holding up a placating hand.  “You can keep them here for when you want to use the pool.  We won’t violate any of Romanov’s little rules, promise.”  The agency had strict rules about gifts.  Everything had to be run through them, not from the client directly.  Ms. Romanov said this was to avoid any of her people from feeling pressured into accepting something or believing they then owed something that wasn’t specifically negotiated, which made some sense as far as it went.  Steve suspected the less altruistic truth was that the whole rule against on the side gifts was to ensure the agency didn’t miss out on their cut, but he wasn’t going to argue with Ms. Romanov. About anything. Ever.  Clint agreed this was a good rule to live by.

Steve nodded his agreement and followed Tony back inside to Tony’s bedroom, watching with no small amount of interest when Tony pulled the pair of trunks out of one of the drawers of the massive bureau that lined one of the walls.  He tried and failed not to be absurdly pleased that there was a place in Tony’s room where he kept things for Steve.  Well, one thing, but still.  Bucky would probably knock him upside the head if he went back to the apartment and told him that he had a drawer at Tony’s, which he didn’t, not really, of course. 

It was possible he was reading too much into the placement of swimming trunks.  He mentally sighed and took the proffered trunks, quickly shucking off his shoes and leaving his clothes in a pile.  He’d gotten over whatever embarrassment he might have had around Tony by now.  In fact, he rather enjoyed the way Tony’s eyes went dark and he got all still and quiet as he watched Steve undress.  This was Tony’s home and he was here on Tony’s dime, so to speak, and there was always some strange undercurrent there where everything flowed from Tony, but here, in the bedroom, when it was just the two of them, it was like everything reversed itself. 

“And here I thought you looked fantastic in that ridiculously tight shirt today,” Tony teased, though his voice was rough and caught hoarsely on the words as he spoke. 

“Oh, yeah, that was Bucky’s,” Steve explained with a chagrined laugh.  Tony’s gaze snapped back to his, eyes going wide, then narrowing.  “Laundry day,” Steve said quickly, though he could hear the lie in his own voice and wondered if Tony could as well. 

“Bucky, your childhood friend and now roommate,” Tony said with a nod, as if just remembering the name.  “So nice of him to share his things,” Tony said slowly, forming each word carefully while he stared at Steve. 

“Yeah,” Steve replied as he folded the clothes and set them on the back of the sofa in Tony’s bedroom.  “I, uh, didn’t really have anything clean to wear, so,” Steve said with a shrug, then looked up at Tony, who was still watching him, though his teasing, playful expression of a moment before was gone, and there was something dark and drawn that tightened his features for a moment before it slipped off.

“Well, how about we head down to the beach, then?” Tony asked, suddenly a blur of motion, nearly sprinting past Steve to the door.  Steve frowned in confusion as Tony rushed out of the room, but had no choice other than to follow, though he kept his stride a few paces behind all the way out of the house and down the wooden steps to the beach.  Tony finally slowed when his feet hit the sand, and Steve let himself catch up.  For a moment, he just stood next to Tony, taking in the view.  He looked over his shoulder back to where the house sat perched almost impossibly on the cliffs above them. 

“Wow,” Steve said, looking up and down the private beach.  The beach was a dark golden color against the dark reddish-brown of the rocks that jutted out like long arms.  The beach itself curved in, forming a c-shape and blocking the worst of the Pacific’s waves.  It occurred to him that this was probably not natural, that Tony had created this, bent rock and water and earth to his will, and there was something heady in that, being next to someone who would dare like that.

There was a yellow and white striped cabana just out of reach of the tide, and he walked past Tony towards it.  There were two chaise lounges inside, along with a metal cooler on a stand and a table filled with food under glass covers.  Tony had planned, Steve realized, though this seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to for a sure thing.  He couldn’t help but wonder at what Tony was about, though he was glad to actually get to stick his toes in the Pacific---oh.  He’d forgotten.  He’d said something about that, what—last week?  He couldn’t remember.  It hadn’t even been a part of the conversation, not really, just the two of them talking over dinner about things to do in the area, and Steve had mentioned that he wanted to at least put his feet in the sand and let the Pacific wash over them, so he could say he’d done that on both coasts.

And now here he was, in some kind of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous beach day setting that Tony had apparently put together.  For him.  He’d just been telling himself not to read too much into swimming trunks, and now this.  He honestly didn’t know what to think. 

Tony brushed past him and sprawled on one of the chaise, immediately taking out his tablet and setting to work. 

“This is great, Tony,” Steve declared earnestly.  “Thank you.  You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Tony shrugged lightly.  “Wasn’t any trouble.  Just told some people to do it.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, having nothing really to say to that.  Of course, this wouldn’t be a big deal to Tony.  “Well, thank you anyway.”

He kept measuring things by some entirely different scale, probably because he wanted to see more in these gestures than was really there.  To make all this something it wasn’t.  To make him something he wasn’t.

Steve looked around the cabana, unsure now what he was supposed to do.  He heard Tony heave out a frustrated puff of air, and glanced over at him.  Tony was gripping the edges of the tablet and looking up at where Steve stood in the middle of the cabana.  “You’re welcome,” Tony finally acknowledged, though it was like the words had to be pulled from him.  “Go swim.  Eat.  There’s beer and water in the cooler. Rest, read, I don’t care,” Tony said dismissively.   

“You don’t want to join me?” Steve asked, glancing over his shoulder at the water. 

“I don’t go in the water,” Tony replied, not looking up from the tablet.

“I could teach you to swim,” Steve offered quickly.  “This probably isn’t the best—I mean, the pool would be better for that, but—“

“I don’t go in the water.  I swim just fine,” Tony said. 

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, I could stay, just hang out, or maybe we could--” Steve began.

“Just go.  Enjoy.  Whatever,” Tony interjected with a wave of his hand.  Steve recognized a dismissal when he heard one.

“Tony, did I do something wrong, or say something, because you seem—“ Steve tried, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I have things to do, Steve.  Not everything is about you,” Tony bit out, pinning him with his gaze for a long moment, then dropping his eyes back to his tablet.  “Some of us don’t get paid to play all day.”  And that, okay, that hurt.  By unspoken agreement, they didn’t talk about their arrangement.  Most of the details of it flowed through the agency anyway.  Hearing Tony all but spell it out for him sent a wave of shame through him, and he swallowed thickly around the sudden lump in his throat.

“Fine,” Steve said brusquely, turning to go. 

“Steve, wait.  Damn it.  I’m sorry.  That. That didn’t come out right.  I’m not—I’m not doing this right,” Tony admitted.  He sat up and tossed the tablet to the side, rubbing at his temples with the fingers of one hand.  “I forget myself sometimes.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m the one who—it’s my issue, not yours.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I don’t mean to be like this.  I just don’t—I can’t—I’m trying very hard not to mess this up.”

Steve stared down at where Tony sat on the chaise, elbows braced against his knees, hands running rhythmically through his hair, back and forth.  He walked over and bent down, pressing his mouth against Tony’s.  In an instant, the kiss deepened, Tony’s tongue swiping into Steve’s mouth, his arms winding around Steve’s neck to pull him closer, until Steve’s hands were braced on either side of Tony on the chaise while Tony clung to his shoulders.  When they finally pulled apart, Tony let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder for a moment, then dropped his hands and lay back against the chaise while Steve hovered over him. 

“You’re doing everything just right, Tony. I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to push.  I know you have a lot on your mind,” Steve said.  “It’s okay to need space, just tell me that.  I get it.  I mean, I admit I don’t really understand what you’re working on, but I know how important it is to you.”

“I don’t think you have any idea how important this is to me,” Tony said quietly as he looked up at Steve.  “Now, go.  Enjoy the water.  I’m fine, really,” Tony promised at Steve’s skeptical look.  “Just going to get some work done.”

Steve sprayed himself with sunscreen, then padded out of the cabana and down to the water’s edge, letting his feet sink into the wet, rocky sand.  When the wave came up, the tendrils just barely reached far enough to pull the layer of sand off the top of his feet as the water was sucked back into the ocean.  He turned and saw Tony sitting up now, watching him.  Steve gave him a little wave, then walked out into the sea, diving in when it reached his hips.  The waves were too powerful to go out far, so he swam parallel to the beach, back and forth, then floated until he felt his skin heating from the sun that was now high in the sky overhead.  He swam back to shallow water and walked up the beach, back to the cabana.  Tony was standing at the entrance, tracking his approach.

“Hungry?” Tony asked. 

“Starving,” Steve replied immediately.  Tony laughed at that and went to the cooler to grab two bottles of beer, handing one to Steve after he toweled off.  They ate the sandwiches and chips that had been set out while Tony explained the engineering involved in constructing the beach in response to Steve’s question. 

“Well,” Steve said after Tony finished some point related to dredging that Steve had stopped following.  “I admit, building your own beach is pretty amazing.  I, however, am going to construct the most badass sandcastle, excuse me,” Steve amended.  “Sand fortification, that you have ever seen.  Prepare to be impressed.”

“You’re building a sandcastle?” Tony asked bemusedly.

“Sand fortification,” Steve corrected.

“Okaaaay,” Tony said, obviously humoring him. 

“You can help,” Steve offered. 

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Tony replied with a slight shake of his head.  “You go right ahead.  I’ll just be up here, absolutely not silently mocking you.”  Steve ignored him and gathered a few cups and other items he could use, then trod out to the beach to begin construction. Fifteen minutes later, a shadow fell over where he was digging a round channel for the moat.

“That is a pile of sand,” Tony observed.  “You have made a sand mound.  That is not even remotely anything like a castle or any other type of ‘fortification.’” 

“Well, you can help, or you can leave your fancy beach defenseless,” Steve retorted without looking up.  Admittedly, his plans for the thing had not exactly worked out the way he’d hoped, though that did not mean he was about to give up and walk back to the cabana in defeat.  That would almost suggest that Tony had been right about this idea, and he suspected he would never hear the end of that.  This was the hill—mound, he corrected with a smile—that he planned to die on. 

Steve squinted up at Tony and gave the other man a big, shit-eating grin, then piled a handful of wet dirt on top of the other pile of dirt. 

“I think you’re doing this on purpose,” Tony said with a sigh as he sank down onto the dirt before Steve could grab a towel for him to sit on.  “Luring me over here with your piss-poor engineering and lack of structural integrity.  You don’t even have a channel for the water to run in and out of, and you need some dry sand for that—that _clump_ \--or it is never going to remotely resemble a tower.”

They argued and joked and cursed the tide that kept trying to pull the outer wall down, ended up trolling the beach for sticks, seaweed and other flotsam they could use, Tony spent far too long constructing a working drawbridge, and Steve drew rosemaling on the outsides of the towers.  It was one of the best afternoons he could remember, all in all.  He told Tony so as they sat in the warm sand after clinking their beer bottles together in toast to their sheer awesomeness. 

“Me, too,” Tony agreed after a moment.  He looked down at the beer bottle in his hands for a long while, then back up at Steve.  “I don’t know the last time I did something like this.  Maybe never.”

“Didn’t you do this when you were a kid?  Parents take you to the beach and all that?  Or, I don’t know, your own island or something?” Steve asked teasingly.  

“Ha!” Tony snorted, breaking Steve from his thoughts.  “Me?  A Stark?  You’ve got to be kidding. Stark men are made of iron.  We don’t need to do frivolous things like playing in the dirt when we could be changing the world.” It was meant to sound light, but Steve could hear the bitter wistfulness underneath the words.

Steve squinted against the sun as he watched Tony pick at the label on the beer bottle.  Tony was always doing something with his hands, Steve had noticed.  Tactile, Steve thought.  That was the word for it.  Tony was touch and force and kinetic energy waiting to act upon something else, to move it and shape it, bend his world to him.  Not for the first time, Steve found himself wanting to ask Tony about his captivity.  It must have nearly destroyed Tony to have that control over his own life taken away from him.  Whatever it was that had happened to Tony, he had left some part of himself behind, even Steve could see that, but Steve was beginning to suspect whatever it was that remained in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan had been the least of who Tony really was. 

“You really think this was frivolous?” Steve asked carefully. 

Tony was quiet for so long Steve thought he wasn’t going to answer, so he gathered up the beer bottles and stood, brushing a bit of sand off himself as he did.  He went to make his way back to the cabana, when Tony reached out and grabbed his wrist, bringing him up short. 

“Absolutely nothing about this is frivolous,” Tony said, staring up at Steve for a long moment.  Steve gripped Tony by the wrist and tugged him up, pulling him close enough to wrap an arm around. 

“Let’s go back to the house and clean up,” Steve suggested, moving slightly against Tony, making it an invitation. 

Steve figured he had sand in unfortunate places, so hit the shower.  He knew Tony wouldn’t join him.  Tony still didn’t want to remove his shirt in front of Steve, no matter how many times Steve told him he wouldn’t be bothered by whatever scarring there might be.  As far as Steve was concerned, whatever scars Tony had earned from his ordeal were ones that meant he could come home, and that was really all that mattered.  Life lines, Steve thought to himself as he shucked off the wet trunks and waited for Jarvis to get the water heated and jets set.  He washed the sand and salt off his skin and out of his hair, then reached for the small tube he’d grabbed from the nightstand while Tony was changing. 

He flicked open the cap and squirted a liberal amount onto his fingers, then took a deep breath.  Since that first night, he’d figured out that Tony far preferred for Steve to initiate things.  Keep the client happy, right?  He sighed and tried to force himself to relax as he pressed a slick finger against his entrance.  He couldn’t exactly lie to himself that this was all about making Tony happy, about keeping the client happy, making sure that weekly envelope Ms. Romanov handed him was fat with cash, and while there was that, there was also the tight coil of anticipation that had settled in his stomach on the walk up from the beach. 

He wanted Tony.  He liked Tony.  Hell, Bucky could see it, so he might as well acknowledge the obvious.  Whatever shame there was from enjoying this wasn’t enough to stop him from wanting it. 

Steve put one foot up on the marble seat that jutted out from the shower wall and worked his finger in and out a few times before adding a second.  It was an odd sensation, he thought.  It felt different than when Tony did it, when he couldn’t keep himself still and kept trying to find more, to feel more, though it was something else, too.  Tactile.  Tony liked to touch him, liked to watch him come apart from it.   He always took his time, almost reverently sometimes, and seemed to enjoy it almost as much as Steve, and maybe that mattered, too.  But, tonight, Steve wanted this to be about Tony, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Gratitude, maybe, though that didn’t quite feel like the right word.  I want him to know how I feel, Steve realized as he pushed a third finger deep inside, then out again, repeating the gesture until he felt his body slacken at the invasion. 

He turned the shower off and wrapped the towel around his waist.  When he entered the bedroom, he could see Tony sitting on the sofa in the sunken living area, a light bluish glow illuminating his face in the dim light of the room indicating that he had his tablet in his lap.  It was only mid-afternoon, but the massive glass walls that dominated the far corner of the room had been darkened and the lights turned low.  As he walked around to the front of the sofa to stand in front of Tony, Steve could see that Tony was talking to someone via a small, wireless headset that reminded Steve of something out of Star Trek. 

“Right, right, the toroidal field lines keep it self-sustaining while—“ Tony looked up, blinking at him in surprise.  Steve dropped the towel.  “Yeah, we’re done.”

Steve sank down onto Tony’s lap, bracing one leg on either side of Tony’s and bent his head to capture Tony’s mouth.  He felt Tony’s hands go to his hips, slaying over the bone there, thumbs rubbing lightly, tracing a pattern back and forth.  Steve drew Tony’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking lightly, then nudged Tony’s mouth open with the tip of his tongue, seeking entrance.  He swallowed Tony’s groan, pressing his mouth hard against Tony’s, deepening the kiss as his tongue traced the wet heat of Tony’s mouth, sliding around Tony’s own tongue.  Tony’s hands were roaming Steve’s body, up and down his back, light, barely-there touches, but all Steve could concentrate on was Tony’s mouth as it slanted over his, the rough scrape of Tony’s beard against his lips, the way Tony’s tongue felt as it explored his mouth. 

Tony’s thumb grazed over Steve’s nipple, startling him enough that he drew back.  Tony was grinning wickedly up at him.  He leaned forward and ran his chin over the pert nipple, scraping it against his beard.  Steve’s whole world stuttered to a pinpoint as his back curled around Tony, his brain short circuiting halfway between pleasure and pain.  Tony’s mouth followed quickly, almost soothingly as he sucked gently at the taut peak. Steve could feel gooseflesh raising on his arms as Tony worked his tongue in lazy circles.  Tony’s other hand came between them to stroke Steve’s cock, using his thumb to circle around the head in time with his tongue working at Steve’s nipple.  The contrast of sensations was almost too much for Steve, and he felt his hips thrusting forward of their own accord before he could stop himself.  He didn’t want that though, not tonight.  This was about Tony.

Steve took Tony’s hand off his cock and laced his fingers through it, pressing it down into the couch cushions by his leg.  Tony’s mouth came off his nipple long enough for Tony to look up at Steve in obvious question, but Steve just pressed his mouth to Tony’s again, letting that be his answer.  He felt Tony’s warm sigh against his lips, and let his hands stroke over what parts of Tony he could reach.  Tony may not like his chest touched, but the man had amazing arms, sinewy with muscle, stronger than he looked under the suits he often wore.  Arms that worked and built and created, and hands, Steve thought as he threaded his fingers through Tony’s other hand.  These hands roughened and worn, with hard patches of skin where calluses formed and were sloughed off.  He loved Tony’s hands maybe more than anything.  Tactile, Steve thought again.  He was made to touch, to know his world through his hands. 

Steve pulled Tony’s hand around behind him until it rested just below the small of his back.  Tony wasn’t an idiot, so took the obvious invitation and lowered that hand, bringing the other one around so he could cup Steve’s ass, massaging the globes in his hands as he parted him. Steve tore his lips away from Tony’s and started kissing a trail down Tony’s jaw, to that sensitive spot behind Tony’s ear.   He could feel Tony’s finger trace down to find his entrance, prodding lightly at the rim. 

“Need lube, hon,” Tony whispered throatily against the side of Steve’s neck. 

“Nhuh,” Steve managed as he sucked the lobe of Tony’s ear into his mouth.  “M’good.”

“You’re not—“ Tony started as Steve pushed back onto his finger, which slid easily into Steve’s body.  “Oh, JesusfuckingChrist. You.  You--”

“Let me take care of you tonight,” Steve requested, voice low against Tony’s ear. 

“Steve,” Tony groaned.  “Oh God. You don’t have to—”

“Please, Tony,” Steve asked.  “I want to.  Let me.”

Tony managed to nod, his head lolling back against the back of the sofa as he stared up at Steve.  “Just relax,” Steve told him.  He slid off of Tony’s lap and knelt on the floor between Tony’s legs.  Tony huffed out a small puff of air, but said nothing, just watched Steve with wide, dark eyes, glittering in the low light. 

Tony had changed into a pair of loose-fitting drawstring pants.  There was a damp spot just to the left of the groin.  Steve leaned over and mouthed ati it, sucking lightly on the fabric. “God, Steve. Fuck.  Fuck. Fuck,” Tony repeated, letting his eyes fall shut, then snapping them open, as if he was unable to look away from the image Steve presented.  He felt Tony’s fingers wind through his hair, petting more than anything, Steve realized.

Steve pulled the elastic waist of Tony’s pants down, past the dark, coarse thatch of hair and under his hips until Tony’s cock freed itself, standing up between them, leaking pre-come down the shaft.  He dipped his mouth and pressed his lips to the head, letting his tongue dart out to catch some of the white fluid pooling there. 

“I’m dead.  I’ve died.  This is death. Everyone out of everyone would recommend it to friends,” Tony babbled.  “Sorry.  Sorry. Ignore me.  I don’t know what I’m—I can’t think when you—“

“I like it when you talk,” Steve confessed as he reached for the tube he’d dropped with the towel and put a generous amount on his hand.  He wrapped it around Tony’s cock and started working the lube around, coating it completely. 

“Okay, literally you and Marlee Matlin are the only two people to ever say that,” Tony rambled on, talking to the ceiling now, though his eyes kept being drawn back to Steve.  “Jesus.  Fuck, Steve.  You’re beautiful.  You’re beautiful, God, you’re—Oh.” 

Steve turned around and braced each leg on one side of Tony again, but facing forward.  He could feel Tony’s hard cock pressing against his backside and pushed himself up a bit into a better position. He reached behind him and spread himself apart until he felt the head of Tony’s cock rubbing against his rim, catching lightly on the puckered skin there as he rocked his hips up and down. 

“Oh.  Oh.  Christ, Steve, please, please,” Tony chanted.  Steve stopped rocking his hips and shifted himself just enough so that Tony’s cock lined up properly, then started to press down.  He felt the head catch against his hole and forced himself to relax and keep pressing down.  He could feel the familiar burning pressure build as his body stretched, but he kept slowly pushing himself down until he felt Tony's cock finally push past the resistance offered by ring of muscle at his entrance.  He took a shuddering breath and kept going, slowly letting himself sink onto Tony’s cock, relishing the way it slid against the inside of his body, soft and rough at the same time.  He stopped once Tony was partially inside him, letting his body adjust for a moment, then with a long, low, moan, let his weight drop fully, burying the full length of Tony’s cock inside him, filling him completely.

“Tony,” he heard himself say, half a groan, half in wonder. 

“Ah, God, Steve, just—oh, fuck, baby,” Tony ground out, his hands coming up to trace over Steve’s back and shoulders, down his arms and finally wrapping around Steve’s torso while Tony pressed his mouth to Steve’s spine.  “You’re so good, Steve. God, you’re perfect.  Perfect, Steve.”

Steve started moving then, using his thighs to push himself up, then slowly down again, finding the rhythm and angle he liked, enjoying the feel of Tony’s cock sliding almost entirely out of his body before he pushed back down on it again, filling himself up.  For a little while, all he could hear was the pounding of his heard, a steady, throbbing beat in his head, Tony’s grunts and the wet slap of skin when he sank back down on Tony.  Each time he drove down on Tony’s cock, it pressed against the bundle of nerves deep inside him, the sensation seeming to run from there through his stomach to the end of his cock.  He was almost painfully hard and leaking on Tony’s carpet, though he strongly suspected Tony couldn’t give a shit.

He could feel the gradual pressure building inside him, the familiar tingling sensation inside his cock and sense of a warm weight in his stomach.  He could hear the sharp, jagged little sounds torn out of him each time he took Tony in, mingled with Tony’s hard, guttural grunts.  Steve pulled himself almost all the way off Tony’s cock, letting the round head catch again on his loosened rim, then slammed down, seating himself fully on Tony’s hard length. 

“That’s it, baby.  That’s it.  Come for me, Steve.  Come on my cock,” Tony commanded, his voice clear and sure in Steve’s ears, and that was all it took, though when he came, the strength of the spasms took him almost by surprise.  He shouted, and could feel himself contracting around Tony as long streams of white spilled out of him.   Tony grasped his hips harder now and thrust up, again and again, pounding into Steve.  He wasn’t sure which one of them was making the long, low keening noise, though Steve suspected it was him. 

“Tony,” Steve managed to gasp out, then felt the warm rush of Tony’s cum fill him, coating his insides.  He clenched down around Tony’s cock, holding him there while they rode out the wave of sensations.

Steve’s head fell to his chest as he tried to get air to go properly into his lungs.  He looked over his shoulder and saw that Tony’s head was thrown back, one arm toss over his eyes while he did the same, though Tony was mouthing words that he couldn’t seem to get any actually volume on.  Steve sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself up to his knees, feeling suddenly empty as Tony’s softening cock slid out of him.  Tony grabbed the back of his neck and pulled Steve to his chest, turning his head to place a bruising, sloppy kiss on Steve’s mouth.

Steve sat there another moment, curled against Tony’s chest, breathing hard, then forced his body to move from its state of dissipation.  He reached down to pick the towel up off the floor and wiped himself off, then turned to do the same for Tony.  When he was done, he carefully tucked Tony’s cock back into his pants and pulled them up.  Tony was watching him with that intense sort of scrutiny that Steve had come to just accept, like everything he did was oddly fascinating, which it obviously wasn’t, not to someone like Tony.  Still, it was strangely comforting to have Tony’s attention like this, so he didn’t protest. 

Tony patted the space of sofa next to him, and Steve sat down, stretching his legs out on the rest of the length of sofa as he let his head rest on Tony’s chest.  He felt Tony’s arm come around to wrap around him, drawing a blanket from the back of the sofa over him.  Tony pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and through a kind of hazy fog, Steve could hear Tony murmuring things to him, how beautiful he was, how good, over and over, a hint of amazement underneath the tenderness in Tony’s voice.

Steve woke with a start, coming to that kind of instant, heart-pounding wakefulness that leaves your whole body feeling off kilter.  Everything was wrong, was his first thought, then his mind caught up and he realized he was on Tony’s sofa with his head pillowed on Tony’s lap.  Steve looked up to apologize, and saw Tony’s head lolled to one side, eyes shut, mouth slightly parted in sleep.  He looked young, Steve thought.  Softer, somehow, the usual lines of worry smoothed away by sleep.  Vulnerable in a way that Steve didn't usually associate with Tony, though he knew a lot of what Tony presented was by careful design.  Tony’s hand was halfway through Steve’s hair, as if he’d been in the midst of running it through when he fell asleep.  There was warmth and safety and a strange sense of certainty that flickered through him as he watched Tony sleep.  Steve lay there for a long moment, still and quiet, and let himself bask in the feeling, fleeting though it might be.  Tony was a lot of things, but there was little certain about any of this, Steve was well aware.

He carefully pulled himself loose of Tony’s hand and sat up.  His clothes were where he’d folded them earlier, so he got up and quickly got dressed.  He stood there in the middle of the room for a moment, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do.  Tony was still asleep, and he hated to wake him, but the thought of just leaving didn’t sit well with him either.  He didn’t think Tony would mind.  In fact, Tony actually never walked him out or even watched him leave once they were done for the night.  He’d thought it odd at first, sitting out in the living room while Jarvis alerted Happy to bring the car around, but now it was just a part of the ritual.

Since he couldn’t exactly stand there all evening waiting for Tony to wake up, he made his way out to the kitchen and took a muffin leftover from breakfast from one of the containers.  Without worrying about what Tony would think of his manners, he wolfed that down in a couple of bites.  It was early still, he noticed as he looked out the window.  Or, at least, not late.  The sun had turned that softer golden color that it did as it started to set.  It reminded him of the beach and the sand, laughing about the best way to construct turrets for their fortification. 

He realized he wasn’t ready to leave just yet, and he let himself know why.  He was hoping Tony would wake up.  Wake up, come out here, smile at him, laugh and tease and talk with him.  They could eat dinner and maybe watch a movie, though Steve didn’t think he’d make it through the whole thing.  Despite the nap, it was like his body was moving through water still, all languid and heavy.  Tony, with his hands, who would touch him and make him feel, make him forget, at least for a little while, make this not something shameful or degrading, but something good and beautiful.

Steve picked up his sketchbook and the case of charcoals from where he had put it down when he arrived.  He stared at the blank page for a moment while the image of what he wanted to draw filled his head.  Soon, the charcoal was arcing across the page, dark lines slowly becoming the thing he could see so clearly in his mind.  When it was finished, he blew the fine layer of dust off and stared down at it.  He felt a soft half-smile forming at the image, two familiar hands raking sand into a cylinder shape.  He was pleased with it, all in all.  He wrote a quick inscription on the back.  _Making something that is useless isn’t the same as making something that is worthless.  For when you need to remember to be a little frivolous—Steve_.

He placed the drawing on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch.  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Tony hadn’t come out looking for him, so he supposed there wasn’t much choice left.  “Jarvis?” Steve called out.

“How may I be of assistance?” Jarvis queried immediately.

“Can you let Happy know that I’m ready to go home?” Steve asked.

“Certainly, Sir.  I’ll alert you when he is at the door,” Jarvis told him. 

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve replied.  “When he wakes up, would you tell Tony I left him something on the coffee table?”

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis responded and damn if the AI didn’t sound pleased.  Steve shook his head.  He was probably projecting. It wasn’t long before Jarvis was telling him that Happy was waiting, and soon enough, Steve found himself back at the apartment. 

There was a note on the door telling him that Bucky and Clint were at the bar down the street watching the game and that he should come join them for a beer, by which he meant a note saying, “Bar. Come.”  He wasn’t really in the mood though, and instead, made himself a grilled cheese sandwich and switched on the radio long enough to catch the last of the game.  He stripped down to his boxers and stretched out on the sofa, some ratty, plaid thing that Bucky and Clint had picked up off the curb, but it served.  One of the cushions had duct-tape over half of it because Clint swore that stain was dried blood, the result of increasingly horrific possible scenarios whenever you asked Clint about it, and he could feel the smooth tape against the back of his thigh.

A loud pounding noise woke him, and he looked up to see a bleary-eyed Clint padding out of his room.  Clint went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, which, unsurprisingly, did little to stop the pounding, so Steve pushed himself off the sofa and went to answer the door.  He stared in something like wonder at the tall, African-American man dressed head to toe in black and sporting an eyepatch over one eye.  “Um, can I help you?” Steve asked cautiously.

Clint came up behind him, took one look at the doorway and stopped short.  “I didn’t do it,” Clint said quickly. 

“Do what?” Steve asked in confusion.

“Whatever it is.  It wasn’t me.  I don’t care what the…guy?  Guy, told Romanov,” Clint insisted hurriedly.

“Not here about you, Barton,” the man said, stepping inside and looking around disdainfully. 

“Oh, good.  Right.  Sorry, Steve,” Clint said apologetically, tilting his head to the side.

“Okay, what is going—oh, hello, ah, come right in.  Why not?” Steve muttered as three more men brushed past him, each carrying large shopping bags filled with boxes and suit bags filled to the brim slung over their shoulders, though they looked nothing at all like the first man.

“Not that we aren’t thrilled to see you Nick.  Because we’re not, but what are you doing playing delivery boy?” Clint asked suspiciously. 

“Ms. Romanov asked me to see to this personally,” the first man said.  “So.  Here I am.  Seeing to this all personal-like.”

“I still don’t—what is all this?” Steve asked again as the other three men started unloading bag after bag. 

“A few things courtesy of Mr. Stark,” Fury explained. 

“Oh.  Oh-ho-ho,” Clint crowed, grabbing for one of the bags, only to have one of the other men jerk it out of his hands. 

“That’s Gucci,” the man snapped, as if that meant the same as ‘no touching.’

“Wow, when my clients send me things to wear, they usually fit in the drawer next to the bed,” Clint grumbled.  Steve frowned, then opened his mouth to ask, only to snap it shut again when his brain caught up. 

“Guess Stark noticed the shirt after all,” Bucky observed blearily from the doorway to his room. 

“I—yes, I mean, yes, he noticed.  I told him it was laundry day, so I had to borrow one,” Steve said, staring down wide-eyed at the ever-increasing pile of items the three men were unwrapping.

“Huh,” Bucky said noncommittally, exchanging a pointed look with Clint. 

“I’m calling this the I-Don’t-Want-To-See-You-In-Another-Man’s-Shirt-Shirt,” Clint said, holding up a dark blue button-down. 

“That’s Prada,” one of the men chided, yanking it away, oblivious to Clint’s annoyed snarl.

 “He’s just—I mean, money doesn’t really mean anything to him.  This is nothing to him.  He probably just felt bad,” Steve stammered.

“Well, whatever you did to get it, do it again,” Clint blurted out with a leer. 

“Shut-up, Clint,” Bucky snapped at him.   “Steve—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve rushed out.  It was.  Completely fine.  He stared at the pile of clothes that had a moment ago looked like a gift and now looked a lot like payment and felt a hot spike of humiliation crawl inside his stomach, and suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but here.  “I’m going to see mom this morning.  They moved her to the new facility and already started rehab.”

“That’s good.  She’ll be glad to see you,” Bucky said. Actually, she probably wouldn’t even notice, but Steve didn’t say that, just grabbed his wallet and a baseball cap and headed out the door. 

“Can’t you keep your fucking mouth—“ Steve heard Bucky shout as he closed the door, though he didn’t stick around long enough to correct his friend. Clint was far more right about things than he wanted to admit.

By the time the bus dropped him off in front of the facility, it was mid-morning, and his mom was already having a physical therapy session in her room.  He watched as the therapist moved her legs, stretching various muscle groups as he went.  His mom was largely unresponsive, though there were times when he thought he saw her eyes focus on the therapist, at least for a moment.  The doctors had already told him not to expect miracles, that these things took time, years, really, and even then, that she would never be close to the person she was before, but he couldn’t help the rush of disappointment.  It wasn’t realistic, he knew, but after all of this, after everything he’d done, there was some part of him that desperately wanted to walk in here and find some piece of the woman he loved had fallen back into place.  After her therapy, the nurses changed her bedding and nutrition bag, emptied her catheter and did the other tasks that she could no longer do for herself.  Was it really only a couple of months ago she’d called him and told him she was saving to go to Disneyland? 

He spent the afternoon reading to her, talking to her, doing all the things the doctors said might help.  Sometimes her face would relax into a smile, though it seemed to have no relation to what he was saying.  But, she was clean and getting the best therapy and care money could buy.  He just wasn’t sure which one she’d consider the bigger failing in a son, leaving her in that county long-term care facility that stank of urine and defeat or the way he was giving her this. 

Doctors talked to him about CT scans and charts and cognitive and occupational therapies and clinical trials.  He nodded his head and took the paperwork they gave him, shaking everyone’s hand and promising them he wouldn’t get discouraged if there wasn’t any immediate progress, and by the end of it, he wanted nothing more than to run out of the building and keep running until this was far enough behind him that he didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

By the time he reached the bus stop, he realized he was crushing the paperwork in his hand and forced himself to sit down on the bench and take enough deep breaths to keep from having a panic attack next to the ad for fruit-flavored fizzy beverages.  He stared down at the rolled up papers in his hand and wished he could unsee and unheard the last few hours, even if for a little while. 

He wanted to see Tony. 

If he could see Tony, then he could put this back where it belonged in the back of his mind, at least until next Sunday.  He didn’t have Tony’s number, of course, since all that went through the agency anyway.  He took out the phone he’d gotten and flipped it open. There were four contacts in it, Bucky, Clint, the facility he’d just left and the agency.  He hit the last button and waited.  It wasn’t long before Ms. Romanov’s voice sounded on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Steve. I take it you got the delivery this morning,” she said smoothly.  Right. The clothes.  He almost laughed out loud, because he’d forgotten.  It seemed like that had been years ago, not hours. 

“Um, yeah. Yes.  That was very nice,” Steve replied.

“Good.  Was there something I can help you with?” she asked.

“Ah, well, I know—I know I’m not really on the schedule today, but.  Well.  I thought maybe, if you could.  You could let Tony—Mr. Stark—know that I’m available.  If he wanted to see me,” Steve stuttered, realizing that he hadn’t entirely thought this out. 

“Steve.  You know we don’t make the schedules. The client makes the schedules.  Mr. Stark did not request you today,” she admonished firmly.  “We do not interrupt our clients’ lives to let them know we can work them in.  That’s not how this works.”

“I—yeah.  I know.  I just thought, maybe, I don’t know—“ Steve mumbled, feeling his face flame even though she couldn’t see him.

“They want to feel special, Steve. Not as if  you just happened to find time for them, but that you are always looking forward to seeing them.  It’s part of the fantasy for them.  So, no, I will not call Mr. Stark, Tony Stark of Stark Industries, one of the largest and most lucrative companies in the world, and tell him your busy schedule has suddenly cleared and you now have room for him,” she finished with a note of warning in her voice.

“Right.  Right, of course.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you,” Steve said quickly.  The phone clicked off in his ear before he could say anything more, which was probably good, all things considered. 

Two bus changes later, he hopped off a couple of blocks from the apartment building and walked the rest of the way home.  He wasn’t quite ready to go inside and deal with stacks of clothes just yet, so he took the steps to the top floor, then out the heavy door that led to the roof.  He carefully propped it open with the cinderblock they used for that purpose after Clint had locked himself on the roof one night and had to climb down the fire escape and knock on Bucky’s window to be let in.  Which had not gone especially well, seeing as how Bucky had not been alone that particular evening.

Steve unfolded one of the lawn chairs they kept up there and sat down, kicking his feet up onto the roof’s ledge and looking out over the city.  Downtown was a haze of smog and sun in the distance, but it was something to look at.  He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at nothing, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.  He took it out and looked at the screen, which showed unknown caller. 

“Hello?” Steve said as he picked up. 

“Steve?” Tony asked, his voice sounding oddly jittery.  “Are you alright?”

“Tony?” Steve said in bewilderment.  “How did you get this number?”

There was a pause, then Tony’s voice came again, low and careful this time.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right, this is inappropriate.  My mistake. I’ll talk to Ms. Romanov tomorrow.”

“What?” Steve blurted out.  “No, wait. That’s not—that’s not what I meant. I was just surprised.  To hear from you, I mean.  But, don’t—don’t go. I’m glad you called.  Of course, I am.  I’m sorry, I swear I have talked on the phone before.”  Tony chuckled at that and then fell silent, but Steve could almost feel him relaxing.

“I called Ms. Romanov, but I didn’t think she was going to talk to you,” Steve explained.  “I know you’re busy, and we hadn’t planned anything.  I don’t want to bother you, really.  I just—I—“ _my schedule opened up_ , he thought, and wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.  “I wanted to see you,” he finished, because that was the truth of it, and he couldn’t give Tony all the truth, but he could give him that.

“There was a…miscommunication with the agency.  Don’t worry, I took care of it,” Tony replied hurriedly.  “My fault.  It won’t happen again. I know it’s late, and if you want me to send Happy, I will, but weren’t you supposed to spend time with your mom today?” Tony asked softly. 

“I—yes.  I did, I mean.  She’s doing—“ good, Steve meant to say, but couldn’t get the word to come out.  “Actually, the visit didn’t exactly go as I’d hoped.  We haven’t really been able to connect like I wanted when I came out here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tony said, but didn’t press, and for that Steve was grateful.  “You two must have been close if you come all the way out here to be near her.”

“We were,” Steve answered.  “I was sick a lot when I was little, missed a lot of school, and I know it was hard for her because she couldn’t keep regular hours for a job, but for me, it meant we got to spend time together.  I think I didn’t really appreciate what she did for me until now.”

“Tell me about her,” Tony asked, and so Steve did.  It felt good to talk to someone about papier-mâché globes, pancakes shaped like dinosaurs that looked more like large, flat planets with horns, brutally competitive games of Go Fish and trips on the subway because you could get a day pass cheap and Steve had loved to watch the tunnels zoom by and feel like he was going fast when his lungs hadn’t yet allowed him to do that on his own.

“So, she kept saying this, over and over for years. Years!  And I was absolutely convinced she had this List of Stupid Things Steve Has Done, because whenever I did something, like try to fit down the garbage chute because Bucky said I couldn’t—which, I could, let’s be clear on that up front—she’d say, ‘On the List of Stupid Things You’ve Done, this goes right to the top, mister!’ so I just figured that she kept having to erase that damn number one position on the list,” Steve said around another bout of shared laughter.  

When they finally subsided, Steve paused for a moment to realize this was the most he’d talked about his mom in ages, and the first time in months he’d said anything about her that wasn’t related to her condition.  It felt good.  Freeing somehow.  Except that it wasn’t real, none of this was, and there was a new wardrobe with a shirt worth more than anything he’d ever owned sitting downstairs in the shithole apartment his best friend let him crash in.  Well, that certainly breaks the spell, he thought. 

“I, uh, I haven’t shut up this whole time, have I?  I’m sorry, I’m keeping you,” Steve rushed out.  “I did want to thank you, by the way,” Steve continued, feeling horribly awkward.  “For the clothes, I mean.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Tony said, sounding vaguely uncomfortable.  Steve wondered if he’d breached some kind of hooker etiquette by bringing it up.  “It’s no big deal.” 

It wasn’t.  Of course it wasn’t.  Still stung to hear, but what could he say?  I’m glad you liked how we fucked, thanks for the slacks?  Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  None of this was Tony’s fault, and this was the way their whole relationship was set up, wasn’t it?  This was the way he had set it up.  Bit hard to get snippy over getting exactly what you asked for.  Payment for services rendered. 

“So, ah, anyway, like I said, I spoke with Romanov.  If you want to adjust the schedule, we can do that,” Tony offered casually, though it was the kind of casual that was trying to hard to be just that and nothing more, even over the phone, Steve could tell that.  He wants me, Steve thought.  He wants to see me.  If I ask, he’ll send Happy right now, and there was some kind of strange power to that.  In this world where he didn’t seem to have much control over anything, it felt almost heady. 

“I’d like that.  When I'm off on Saturdays, I could, I mean, if you wanted, I could come then.  I need to visit mom Sunday mornings, but could come over around lunch?” Steve proposed.  "Not every weekend or anything.  I mean, just, you know, just whenever you weren't busy.  Which I'm sure is not often, obviously, but, just, whenever is fine.  With me." Dear God, stop speaking, Steve admonished himself silently.

“Good.  Good," Tony repeated, more firmly.  "That's--that's, ah, Tony stammered uncharacteristically.  "That's good.  Then its settled.  I'll make the arrangements with Romanov.”

“Oh.  Oh, okay.  Ah, can I—can I see you?  Tonight, I mean,” Steve clarified, wincing at how needy that sounded. 

“Happy will be there in a few minutes,” Tony said.  Steve started in surprise and found himself looking down over the rooftop ledge towards the street.  A few minutes?  That meant Tony had, what, had Happy circling the block while they talked?

“Oh.  Oh, okay.  Ah, I should change,” Steve remarked, looking down at the white t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. 

“He’ll wait,” Tony answered.  Oh, Steve thought somewhat giddily, suddenly out of air.  “Steve.”

“Yes?” Steve asked.

“Wear something I sent you,” Tony told him. 


	9. De-Serumed Steve + Protective!Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt request was for Steve getting de-serumed and Tony being protective.

The guard gave Tony a vicious shove, sending him stumbling into the cell falling forward to slam one knee against the metal floor before he caught himself. Behind him, he heard the door slam shut and the lock grind into place. Some type of mortice deadlock, Tony’s mind supplied right before the white, hot shaft of pain from his knee hit is brain, leaving him gasping.

He looked around, but couldn’t see much in the dark, at least not until his eyes adjusted. Honestly, this whole facility was just pathetic and sad. Villainy had really taken a downslide since just about anyone could pick up a few alien artifacts on the black market, or, hell, eBay, these days. Some chick on Etsy had been making Chitauri leftovers into lovely candleholders until SHIELD put a stop to it. This place, whatever it was, was clearly not meant to hold two Avengers. The interrogation room had been lovely, however. Eleven of out ten prisoners would recommend reducing it to rubble as soon as they got out of here.

Still, he hadn’t noted any cameras or wiring on his earlier fun-filled tour of the facility and the door locks were the kind that someone actually had to turn to get to bolt into place. Well. He did love old-timey things. Speaking of… “Steve? You in here?” Tony asked in a hoarse, ragged whisper, his throat still sore from where some goon had tried his hand at the un-fun kind of breath play. He cleared his throat past the rawness and tried to take in what they were trying to pass off as a cell these days.

“Yeah,” Steve’s voice came from the darkness. “I’m here.”

“Good. You okay?” Tony asked, flopping to his side and rubbing gingerly at his throbbing knee with his hands.

“Depends on your definition of ‘okay,’” Steve admitted after a moment’s hesitation. Tony’s head whipped around in the darkness, trying to find the slightly darker spot that would define where Steve might be. There was something wrong about the pitch of Steve’s voice, like it had lost a bit of timbre, and Tony felt himself instantly go on alert.

It wasn’t that he’d been concerned when Steve hadn’t shown up to rescue him after their supposedly top-secret convoy got blasted into bite-sized pieces, it was that he had all-out panicked when Steve hadn’t shown up. That was what they did. Rescued each other at the last minute, stepped in with a quip and a smile at Bad Guy of the Week’s inane monologue, used bad jokes to deflect the knowledge that you only got so many close calls. Okay, that last one might be mostly him, but still. Steve always showed up. He would never have left Tony to the Hydra Welcoming Committee if there had been any way for him to get there, and that absolute certainty managed to fill him with utter terror when Steve failed to arrive on cue. Something was wrong, he could hear it in Steve’s voice, feel it in the distance between them, because usually, Steve would be all in Tony’s face, checking him for injuries. Or, as Tony liked to think of it, the reward for a job well done. You didn’t die, congrats, you get Captain America running his hands all over you. It was almost worth getting dropped out of a hole in space to get that. For example.

“They ask you any questions or just get right to the fun stuff?” Tony called out, trying to force his voice to a normal octave. He carefully scooted himself along the floor, feeling his way as he went until he bumped into the rough fabric of Steve’s uniform, finding it kind of bunched easily into his hand, as if there was more of it than there should be, which was just…odd.

“Remember when I said we didn’t have anything to worry about with these Hydra-wannabes?” Steve said, sounding more frustrated than actually injured, though there was something off in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” Tony replied, grabbing for Steve’s shoulder.

It probably said something about their lives that Tony’s first thought was shrink-ray.

Steve coughed, a low, wracking sound, and for a moment, Tony couldn’t figure out what was so off about it. Then he realized everything was wrong about it. He’d never heard Steve cough like that before. Hell, probably no one had in a good seventy or so years. “Okay, so they tinkered with the serum, huh,” Tony said, trying to keep his voice mild and even and quell the desire to just outright panic. Fuck. Fuck-ity, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could hear the undercurrent of worry threaded with fear in Steve’s carefully measured voice. It wouldn’t do any good for Tony to come unglued just because they were captured, and Steve was…well, whatever he was. Tony had pictures. Wait, better to rephrase that, he mentally corrected. Tony had seen pictures. Sure, those were in his private collection, but, the point was, he was well aware of what Steve had looked like before the serum. For research-y type reasons, he’d studied them. Because, science.

He briefly wondered where the line was where trying to convince yourself crossed into delusion. Probably somewhere behind him. Way behind him.

“Well, we’ll…” Tony started, then stopped because he actually had no idea what to do about that. Bruce was the serum expert. He just built stuff for Steve to throw or otherwise mangle. So what, exactly, he would do about this, he had no idea. Fix it sounded wrong somehow, and he found himself oddly resistant to suggest that. The serum had corrected Steve’s ailments, but it hadn’t ‘fixed’ Steve. There hadn’t been anything to fix, wasn’t that Erkine’s whole point and the unfortunate lesson Bruce had learned the hard way? “We’ll figure it out,” Tony finally settled on, having nothing more to offer at the moment.

Steve huffed out a snort of air that clearly said he wasn’t buying Tony’s noncommittal answer any more than Tony was.

“What, ah…what was it that they did to you? Do you know?” Tony asked. His eyes had finally adjusted enough to make out the now much smaller shape of Steve sitting in the corner of the cell, uniform rolled up on bunches around his arms and ankles.

“Couldn’t really see much. Some kind of beam of light. Not sure what it was,” Steve replied, and Tony burst out laughing, then quickly moved to cover his mouth. “That’s funny because…?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I know, it’s not. It’s not. It’s just…my first thought was shrink ray and…I was kind of right,” Tony said around a wince. “Sorry. Totally inappropriate. Look—okay, so laugh it up, fine, have it at,” Tony said, rolling his eyes as Steve doubled over with laughter.

“Sorry,” Steve finally said between short, gasping breaths. “My asthma…God, I’d forgotten how this felt,” he coughed. “I’m literally going to be the first Avenger to die laughing.” It wasn’t funny. It really, really wasn’t.  They were stuck in some prison cell, surrounded by Hydra-lite, and Steve was all but useless, and now he was cackling maniacally around fits of coughing. There was absolutely nothing funny about the situation. Nothing at all. Zero. Zip.

Once Tony got started laughing, it was hard to catch his breath long enough to stop. He’d come to some kind of end where he thought he had control of himself, then Steve would start again and before he knew it, they were acting like a couple of teens at a slumber party, cracking up just by looking at each other.

Tony had to bite the inside of his cheek and think of the end of Turner and Hooch to finally stop himself from laughing. “Okay, okay, so, look, I’m not saying this isn’t a concern,” Tony began. He couldn’t see Steve’s eye roll, but assumed that was a given. “But right now, let’s just get out of here, signal the team, and we can come back for whatever toy it was they used on you. I’m sure I can, I don’t know, cross the streams or something. We’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t cross the streams. It would be bad,” Steve quoted dryly.

“I’m just saying, if these assclowns can figure it out, I’m sure I can,” Tony promised.

“I feel better already,” Steve acknowledged, but his voice sounded a bit less tight and drawn, so Tony counted it as a win.   “You figure out the door lock yet?”

“I did. Just need—oh, thanks—guard?” Tony asked as Steve handed him a pen, a button and something that looked like it had once been a clunky walkie-talkie from the Soviet Union circa 1977, but was now in pieces. He studied it for a minute. Damn, the transistor was gone or he could’ve done something with that.

“I bite,” Steve said by way of explanation.

“Nicely done, Half-Pint,” Tony replied.

“Thanks,” Steve said drolly. “They took my shield. I want it back,” Steve mumbled, sounding adorably petulant about the whole thing. Tony clucked sympathetically.

“Wouldn’t you just tip over if you tried to hold it?” Tony wondered.

“How many times did you bang yourself into your garage wall testing the suit again? I forget,” Steve replied blandly.

“Don’t worry, my patriotic little Squinkie, we’ll get your Frisbee back,” Tony promised, still smiling.

“Seems fairly short-staffed here, like maybe it’s just an outpost or something,” Steve offered, seeming to ignore Tony’s jibe, though Tony could hear the slight lift in Steve’s voice from the familiar ritual of teasing each other mercilessly that they went through, like cats bringing dead mice to show affection. You are stressed? Have some inappropriate humor! It was a distraction and in some ways, an indulgence, he knew, but one that they both needed sometimes. “It sure isn’t in any of our databases,” Steve continued. “There are pairs of guards that seem to rotate every three hours or so. Exit route is two floors up on the left through a storage area with a disturbing number of boxes labeled ‘Property of SHIELD’.”

“Think you can make it that far without passing out on me?” Tony teased as he worked the items Steve had given him into something he could use on the door.

“Might throw up on you, but I think I can make it,” Steve answered as he stood up. Or, Tony assumed he did. Hard to tell, Tony thought with a huff of a laugh.

“I heard that,” Steve said into the darkness as Tony fiddled with the locking mechanism.

“Once I get the door open, let me handle the guards, then we make a break for it,” Tony ordered.

“Sure, I’ll just hurl insults and hope no one ties me to the train tracks while you handle the bad guys, because that’s going to happen,” Steve replied evenly as he came to stand next to Tony’s shoulder.

“You know, I’m trying to get us out of this whole situation without getting you, I don’t know, stepped on, or something—“ Tony retorted.

“I wish I had my inhaler,” Steve said, almost sadly.

“Why? Are you having trouble breathing?” Tony asked quickly.

“No, I want to throw it at your head. Tony, I’m short and skinny, not useless. I’m not saying this is ideal for an escape plan, but I can help, and you are going to get us both killed if you keep worrying about me instead of paying attention to what you’re doing,” Steve admonished, though he didn’t sound particularly upset, just frustrated.

“I am paying attention, I’ll have you know, and from where I’m standing—oh, fuck, the door’s open, yep, they saw us!” Tony grunted, pushing Steve to the side as the two guards shouted and ran towards them. Between Tony swinging high and Steve fighting dirty by kicking Goon One in the balls, then grabbing the guy by the hair and slamming the guard’s face into his knee, they managed to get both unconscious guards shoved into the cell, leaving both of them breathing heavily and grinning madly, because there was fighting aliens and dropping cities from the sky, but nothing could really compare to scrapping it out with nothing more than your fists and wanting it more.

“Feels like I should be in some back alley in Brooklyn,” Steve said as he wiped a smear of blood from his lip, then caught it between his teeth and sucked at the wound. It really wasn’t fair sometimes, Tony thought with something of a mental whine as he finally got a look at Steve in the dim light of the hallway outside their cell.  It was like some kind of bizarre twin fantasy come to life. “Let’s go before more show up.” Steve started walking down the hall, only for Tony to grab him and pull him behind his back.

“I’ll take point this time,” Tony grunted.

“Why? You’re just a bigger target if they start shooting,” Steve reminded him.

“How about because I can run twenty paces without needing to stop for a rest break?” Tony retorted.

Steve shot him an annoyed look, but clamped his jaw shut and didn’t say anything else as he followed closely behind Tony. They made the cargo elevator without encountering anyone else. “I think we’re clear,” Tony said just as the alarm claxons began sounding.

“Just had to say it, didn’t you?” Steve muttered, shaking his head, hands on his hips in a posture so familiar that Tony could see it in his sleep.

“Time to go, Captain!” Tony shouted, grabbing Steve by the elbow and propelling them up the stairs. Sure enough, two floors up, there was a door marked with a red sign that read exit in German. Tony made for it, only to be hauled backwards by Steve.

“Not that one. It’s a dummy door, wired to blow, look,” Steve said, pointing at the top corner of the door where a nearly invisible line ran to the back of the exit sign. “This one,” Steve told him, indicating a door on the opposite side marked as ‘maintenance.’

“Some Hydra trick thing you saw back in the day?” Tony asked as they sprinted through the maintenance door and down the completely non-maintenance related corridor behind it.

“Pretty sure it was in a Bugs Bunny short,” Steve replied.

“You wascally wabbit,” Tony huffed out as they raced for a second door at the end of the hallway. He heard a shriek of metal behind them, and realized it was the door being thrown open. A quick clatter of boots on metal followed. “Elmer Fudd’s on our tail,” he shouted. Something pinged off the wall next to his ear, and he zigged, grabbing for Steve, who was lagging too far behind. “Come on, come on, just a bit further,” Tony urged. Technically, he didn’t know what was beyond the door in front of them, except it put one more barrier between them and their pursuers, and right now, he’d take that. Tony ripped open the door in front of them and shoved Steve through it, slamming it shut behind them and searching in vain for a locking mechanism.

“What kind of shitty evil stronghold has no locks on the doors?” Tony barked in frustration. He blinked and looked up, realizing they were outside on some kind of platform, the outpost or whatever it was looming over them where it clung to the mountainside. Some kind of landing pad, Tony’s mind supplied. He ran to the side and looked down. Ok, so, no jumping, he thought as he stared at the jagged outcropping of rocks beneath them.

“So, we’re trapped. Great. Fantastic escape plan,” Tony said.

“Just wait,” Steve replied.

“Wait for wh—“ Tony broke off as the door behind them opened and four Hydra goons plowed through, guns drawn and pointed at Steve and Tony. Tony stepped forward and put his hands in the air, placing himself in the line of fire in front of Steve.

“Tony, would you please stop doing that! I am not an invalid, just because I’m…like this!” Steve shouted from behind him.

“I didn’t say you were!” Tony retorted, turning around to glare at Steve, who was watching him with narrowed eyes and probably grinding his teeth to sand from the look of his jawline.

“Oh, right. You’ve been treating me like I’m going to break since you saw me like this. I thought we were past the whole ‘everything special came out of a bottle’ thing, but—“ Steve spat.

“What?” Tony blurted out, turning all the way around. “No, seriously, what? You’re going to throw that in my face now?” Tony demanded, throwing a hand in the direction of the Hydra guards with their guns shifting nervously between Steve and Tony. “I’m not trying to protect you because I think you’re useless. I’m trying to protect you because I love you, you giant idiot! And the one time I get to try to look after you, you get all huffy about it! Would you just, for the love of God, not throw yourself on the grenade and let me handle things for once in your life?”

“I hate to interrupt. Well, actually, I don’t—“ Goon Number One tried.

“Shut-up!” Tony and Steve shouted in unison.

“Well, I love you, too, and that missing transistor I know you noticed—I do pay attention when you talk, you know? Well, that’s about to be a thing!” Steve yelled, one of the rolled up sleeves of his uniform falling down over where he pointed at Tony.  Steve pulled it back up over his elbow, and Tony could swear he could hear Steve's teeth grinding in frustration, but Tony was grinning too much to care.  Tony opened his mouth to say something that probably would've gotten him either kissed or smacked, but before he could do more than draw in a breath, Steve dove at Tony, ninety-pounds of sheer determination knocking Tony to the ground as the Quin-Jet materialized behind them, spraying the platform with bullets.

“Son of a—“ Tony mumbled as he sat up. “You could’ve said something!”

“Wasn’t sure if my message had gotten through,” Steve said, looking up at the jet and raising his hand in a little wave of acknowledgment.

“Not about that, you ass,” Tony ground out, jerking his head towards where the jet hovered above them. “The other thing! The thing you just said! I heard you say the thing.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure my message was getting through about that, either,” Steve replied, a grudging sort of smile playing over his mouth.

“Next time just hit me over the head with something, would you?” Tony asked.

“Well. I did just literally throw myself at you,” Steve offered mildly.

“You think maybe you could tell me these things when it isn’t a life or death situation?” Tony requested, but he was grinning, probably idiotically, and he didn’t really care.

“Want me to pencil that in for sometime next year, then?” Steve replied. “No one sits through all the seasons of Enterprise if it isn’t true love, Tony.”

“Fair point. So, uh, that’s settled then. Right? I mean, it’s settled,” Tony repeated. “Of course it is. I love you. You love me, blah, blah, blah. Now, we’ll just grab whatever shrink ray they used, get you—fine, get us—“ Tony correct at Steve’s sharp look. “Out of here and talk to Bruce, then go from there.”

“I hate to ask for a gift this early in the relationship, but you did promise me my Frisbee back,” Steve reminded him.

Tony studied him for a moment, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Fine, yes, I’ll hold it and see if I topple over. That’s the one you get, Stark, so enjoy it,” Steve replied with a half-hearted grimace.

“Yay!” Tony shouted gleefully, then signaled up to the jet. A door opened in the back and the armor headed for him. “Be right back, Snack-size, don’t go anywhere!”

One shield, an annoyed glare from Steve while he held it and they all watched to see what would happen and a modified ‘shrink ray’ later, Tony was studying Steve where he sat on the table in medical at the Tower in his undershirt, which swallowed him, and briefs, which, God bless America, didn’t.

“You know, it occurs to me that we may never be presented with this opportunity again,” Tony observed, setting the shrink ray down next to where Steve was sitting. “Not that I don’t love how you look all serumed-up, but…” Tony trailed off, letting the suggestion hang in the air.

“You’re not serious,” Steve chuckled, bringing his hands up to rub at his arms where gooseflesh had sprouted. “I’m—I know what I look like, Tony. Just un-shrink me. You don’t have to pretend. I’m not stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” Tony said gently. “If you think I don’t like what I see. Eh? Here,” Tony continued, carefully placing an album in Steve’s lap. Steve flipped it open and stared down at images of himself set carefully on archival paper behind clear polyester pockets to preserve them. “I like what I see. I’ve liked what I see for a long time,” Tony told him, leaning in and cupping his hand behind Steve’s head to tilt it to just the right angle. Tony’s mouth slanted over Steve’s, his tongue tracing over Steve’s bottom lip, still split from their encounter with the guards earlier, before delving in, swiping deeply into Steve’s mouth, letting himself explore like he’d wanted to for so long. When they finally broke apart, Steve was breathing heavily, pupils blown wide, chest and cheeks a delicious shade of red. God, he looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful, but there was something about him now, like this, that made Tony’s heart ache in his chest. This was the Steve who had fought for everything and expected nothing.   Imperfect and broken and stronger than any of the rest of them.

“You’re sure?” Steve managed through gasping sort of panting breaths.

“Only if you are,” Tony assured him. Steve stared at him for a moment, then nodded, blush growing more furious, but he kept his gaze fixed on Tony.

“Can’t promise I won’t have an asthma attack in the middle of it, but I’m sure,” Steve replied, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Preparation before perspiration, I say,” Tony quipped, holding up a brand new inhaler. “Please don’t throw it at my head.”


	10. Hooker!Tony (sort of) + Identity porn (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was for hooker!Tony and identity porn, which, you know, are not the easiest to combine! So, I took a bit of liberty with the prompt, but hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Russian Translation available here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544253 Thank you to Riru for translating!

Tony sighed and maneuvered the Bugatti under the No Parking sign in the alley on the far side of what looked like the only building in Brooklyn too far gone to ever manage to catch the eye of gentrification efforts. There was a large, rusted brown dumpster in front of him, one side of the lid flipped open as if it hoped maybe the rest of the building would just crumble into it, the lone light in the dark alley illuminating it like a spotlight. Probably to discourage dumping, though of exactly what, Tony didn’t particularly care to think.

Pepper and her damned pet projects, he thought with a grimace as he peered up through the Bugatti’s tinted window at the brownstone tenement. The metal limbs of a partially functional fire escape clung to one side of the building, just covering the flaked-off paint on the bricks behind it, which advertised, hand to God, New fucking Coke, Tony noted with a deep, put-upon sigh that went completely unappreciated. He switched the car off, the windshield wipers coming to a halt as rain pelted the glass in large, fat drops. Fan-fucking-tastic.

How had even agreed to pick this thing up, whatever it was? Some piece she spotted at one of those galleries pretentious enough to sell a Venus de Milo made of literal shit for thousands of dollars and call itself charitable because it gave space to aspiring artists who had not yet risen to the level of feces-based sculpture.

One minute, he’d been nodding approvingly at the blue canvas with the white stripe down the middle she insisted was abstract and the next—well, okay, maybe a tiny comment about how it looked like one of the roads in Mario Kart—he was agreeing to swing by the land that time forgot to pick up what was probably some 20-year old hipster’s attempt to be deep by sculpting his pseudo-dreads into handcuffs to symbolize an oppression little Tyler or Ethan probably felt very profoundly every time he pulled up his Twitter feed in the Starbucks while sipping his venti mocha Frappuccino.  

Tony pushed open the car door and stepped out, ducking his head against the rain. One booted foot sunk into a large gap in the asphalt that held what he assumed was some variation on soylent green. He closed his eyes, his mouth flattening into a line of distaste, then smoothed his t-shirt and shook out the bottom of leg of his dark jeans, tossing his sunglasses back into the Audi’s passenger seat as he closed the door and dashed up to the building’s doorstep.

The steps up to the building’s door were tagged with various graffiti, one of which not so helpfully suggested a physically impossible task, he noted. He tried to find some covering from the deluge, but whatever awning had once hung over the building’s entry had long since sloughed off, leaving a rusted metal skeleton behind and offering nothing in the way of protection from the rain. Fucking art, he thought in annoyance as he pressed the button next to the building’s door marked apartment 5A and waited. And waited.

He pushed the button again, then tried the one for 4A, which got an equally less-than-rambunctious response. He pushed them all like a child in an elevator, then fingered the edge of the call box off and glanced inside. Huh. Either the rats around here were into electrical engineering or some seriously heavy bondage, because they’d carried off most of the wiring, he thought wryly. Probably the only thing in the whole building worth carting off.

He reached out a hand and pushed at the door, which, of course, because this was his life, didn’t have a lock and opened right up. Figures, he thought dully as he looked up the winding staircase that wrapped itself around the building’s interior. He shook his hair out and wiped down the front of his shirt, sending droplets of water onto the cracked pieces of the black and white tiled floor. For a minute, he just stood there, dripping, letting the unreality of the whole situation settle over him. What the paparazzi would give for this picture, he thought with a slight quirk of his mouth. Some billionaire playboy….he might have more in common at the moment with the drowned rats scavenging for wiring than whatever image the press wanted to deify or destroy him with this week.

Well, top floor was best, he supposed, and started to make the climb. By the time he reached the fifth floor, he was out of breath and cursing his state of the art gym. He palmed the round stairway post cap at the top of the steps and took in a few deep breaths, annoyance at Pepper for taking this art crap too seriously, at himself for agreeing to this because he’d felt bad about hurting her and at whoever the starving artist was who, let’s face it, having the unenviable quality of not being either Tony or Pepper, was obviously the one ultimately responsible for this entire farce.

Tony approached the door marked 5A, the ‘A’ hanging down at an angle on one nail, and rapped his knuckles on it, three rapid knocks, then rocked back on his heels, waiting, almost hoping no one would answer, because then he could truly and legitimately complain to Pepper without any residual guilt for not having actually followed through, which, really, when you thought about it, was the way best way to make someone else feel badly for—

Tony’s train of thought derailed as he stared, open-mouthed, at the underwear model who opened the door. Well, technically, that occupation was a guess, but if the Calvin Klein fit, then put him on a billboard in Times Square, Tony figured, because holy hell, the guy was gorgeous. Evening was looking up.

Underwear Model stared back at Tony, blue eyes wide and mouth hanging open, which was actually a good look on him, unfair though that was. “Oh my God!” the man said in surprised horror, then promptly shut the door in Tony’s face.  

Well, that certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Tony’s eyebrows raised, brow furrowing in confusion, and he shifted slightly, looking back and forth down what stood for a hallway in this craphole of a building, half expecting one of the Morlocks to be peeking out at him shouting ‘Gotcha.’ A beat later, the door was wrenched open again, hinges screaming as it banged into the apartment’s inner wall, and the man stepped out in a rush, almost slamming into Tony, who hadn’t budged from his spot outside the door.

“Sorry! Sorry,” the man repeated with a wince, stepping back almost comically fast. It was a wonder with all that mid-air maneuvering that he didn’t fall on his ass, but the man was surprisingly sprite for…an artist, Tony’s mind supplied, catching sight of colored stains on the man’s long fingers where he clutched the doorframe. There were two blue slashes on the man’s neck, just to the side of where his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Damn. He was clearly going to owe Pepper something beyond a pair of shoes for this. She was probably going to want more stock options.

“I’m so, so sorry! That--that was rude. God…sorry. Sorry,” the man mumbled again, then moved past Tony into the hall. “Bucky! Buck!” the man shouted. “Dammit, Bucky, get out here, you ass!”

When the mysterious ‘Bucky’ did not materialize, Should Be In His Underwear No Matter What turned back to Tony, a slight flush burning up his cheeks as he gave Tony a quick, entirely too obvious once-over, and wasn’t that just adorable?

“Ah, hi,” the man said, worrying at the corner of his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment as he studied Tony, wide-eyed and almost rearing back inside the doorway as if he should be sheltering in place or something. The man seemed to catch himself at the nervous gesture and swiped over the reddened lip with his tongue. Tony watched the motion with undisguised interest, stifling a groan as he felt his cock happily trying to explain how much it liked art. “So, ah…wow. Okay. Um, you’re here—I can’t believe he actually did this. Just because he thinks I--” the man stuttered, looking at Tony again quickly before looking, well, literally anywhere else. Tony was fairly sure the wall behind him couldn’t be that interesting. “I’m gonna kill ‘im, I swear to God,” the man muttered under his breath. “Look, um…” the man started, scrunching up his face as he was trying to decide on words.

“Tony,” Tony supplied helpufully, wondering what in the world he’d stumbled into. Clearly the man was overwhelmed by having Tony show up on his doorstep, which was not without some satisfaction, Tony had to admit. He flashed one of his best smiles, though the effort might have suffered a bit, since he was currently dripping a puddle on the cracked linoleum under his feet. “I’m here to—“

“I know. I know,” the man said with a pained sort of nod that squinched his eyes shut. “Look, God, I’m so sorry, but there’s been…well, a huge mistake,” the man said in a rush of words strung together. He was running a hand over the back of his head and over his neck, looking anywhere but directly at Tony, except for the occasional wide-eyed glance, as if he couldn’t quite believe Tony was there. Well, that made two of them, Tony acknowledged sourly, a rush of annoyance replacing his interest as he realized he was standing in what amounted to the armpit of New York City, which was saying something, dripping wet and apparently, being told to fuck off, of all things.

“So, we’re really not going to do this?” Tony asked, somewhat incredulously. “I came all the way down to…wherever the hell I am, and now, you’re saying the deal is off?   You have got to be kidding me,” Tony spat out, a grimace flattening his mouth into a thin line.

“I’m so, so sorry. Really, I—this wasn’t my idea. I mean, I know that isn’t your fault, but I didn’t—I told him not to—I thought he was kidding!” the man blurted out, finally letting his nervous gaze fall on Tony. “I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. I don’t even know how he found someone like you---I mean. That. That didn’t come out right,” the man amended quickly when Tony’s head canted back in question. “Look, I have…I can give you cab fare?” the man said, digging into his pocket for a worn brown leather wallet that looked like it had once carried Continental currency. “If that would help? This isn’t the best neighborhood.”

“You don’t say?” Tony muttered under his breath. “Look, if you're not interested in doing this, fine, forget it. Not like this was exactly how I wanted to spend my evening.”

“Oh. Right. Of course not. That’s—I mean, I didn’t think you did—that you would. I’m sorry,” the man said again, actually sounding rather sincere about it instead of just flustered by Tony’s sudden appearance at his door. “Here,” the man said, shoving out some folded bills that looked mostly like ones. “I have…seven dollars. Damn. Okay, well, this isn’t really enough for a cab back to the city. Is that—is that where you’re going?”

“I don’t do cabs,” Tony ground out. “I can get downtown on my own just fine.”

“Steve. Um, it’s Steve. I’m Steve, that is,” Blondie said quickly. “Well, the bus you want’ll be a good hour or so before it picks up again. It only runs a few routes that go all the way back to downtown on the weekend, so. You don’t want to pick the one that only goes part way and get stuck. It can be kind of confusing if you’re not used to it,” the man—Steve—said helpfully. “So--ah—you’re—you’re kind of…” he trailed off, but waved a hand up and down in the air, apparently to point out that Tony looked like a drowned rat, perhaps the wire-stealing kind, Tony thought nonsensically. “Would you—I have a towel. You could, you know, dry off a bit. If you wanted,” the man offered. “While you wait for the bus.”

“Look, Steve? Steve, I appreciate the gesture. Okay, that’s a complete lie,” Tony amended at Steve’s skeptical look. “I’m annoyed as hell, but whatever. You don’t want to do this, your loss, but whatever. Not really a big deal for me one way or the other, to be honest, except that Pepper, who is the one that really runs my life, is going to be pissed, and that along with basically having to swim to get to your shithole of an apartment? Steve, I have to tell you, that makes me not particularly pleased with the evening.”

“Is—is Pepper your—do they call them ‘Madams’ now?” Steve asked with almost doe-like curiosity, as if the words pained him to say. “I-I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything. I mean—if you—if you need to stay longer or something…I could—I could maybe make some coffee or…?”

Tony blinked slowly at him while his mind caught up with the question.   Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside his chest as he braced one hand on the doorframe and leaned forward letting his head dip down while he gathered his composure. A hooker. Hot Blonde Underwear Model thought he—Tony Stark--was a hooker. Apparently hired by some friend, who was improbably named ‘Bucky.’ The insanely hot guy standing in front of him thought he was here for paid-for sex. Well, that just made everything that much easier. He wasn’t even going to have to work at---wait.

The insanely hot guy standing in front of him thought he was here for paid-for sex. And was saying no.

Well, hell, that stung, Tony thought, thoroughly disgruntled. Not like it was the first time he’d been essentially called a whore to his face, whether for his sexual proclivities or military dealings, but an actual turn-down was still pretty damn rare. Not particularly fond of it, come to think, Tony admitted silently. What the fuck was his life? He sucked in a deep, completely un-calming breath, and stared at the man, biting his cheek to keep twenty different angry retorts from escaping. He’d often wondered how much of his charm was predicated on who he was. Well, now he was getting an answer, even if it was one he didn’t want to hear.

“You’re inviting me in for actual coffee? Well,” Tony said with a dramatic sigh. “Why the hell not? A cup of hot irony sounds fantastic right about now.”

“Yeah?” Steve replied in obvious surprise, though he immediately stepped backwards, using his back to keep the door open and gave Tony enough room to pass by into the small studio apartment. “Okay, well…great. Ah, come on in. It isn’t much, but, here…” he said, moving quickly to shift around a stack of books that were on one end of a metal-framed futon and brushing off the cushion with a few swipes of his hand. Nice hands, Tony noticed, then frowned petulantly. Lucky couch, he thought in annoyance. “Here, have a seat.”

In addition to the futon where he sat, currently positioned as a couch with a faded gray comforter folded neatly on one corner, there was a square wooden table with two mismatched chairs, neither of which were the same wood as the table, a tan camo duffle with a number of what Tony recognized as military service patches on it that was spilling out various bits of clothes somewhat haphazardly next to the futon and a small countertop that fit toaster oven, the kind with two burners on top, a microwave and, God help him, a Mr. Coffee. Next to the single window, there was a metal easel in the shape of a large H, in front of which was a small stool and a table with tubes of paints in various colors and what looked like a used coffee grounds can holding brushes of all sorts. There was a line of canvases leaning against one wall with their backs facing the room, one of which Tony assumed belonged to him, though he had no idea which one.  

It was almost as if the room was divided into two parts, Tony thought. One section was oddly homey, filled with paints and brushes, half-finished canvases, a sketchbook opened to the beginnings of what looked like the Peter Pan statue from Central Park half-covered by rows of charcoals in different thicknesses, Tony noticed, with a strange sort of wistfulness that he barely recognized. It looked lived in, like something of the person who lived here had spilled out into the space, and he immediately thought of his workshop, with its bits and pieces and smell of oil, not paint, but it was the same space.

The other side of the space was devoid of anything except the barest essentials, everything serviceable enough, but nothing _chosen_ , just made do with, space-fillers with no meaning. He had enough of those to recognize them for what they were, though his were exponentially more expensive. He suspected he’d spent just as much time on selecting them, though.

Steve reached for a door behind Tony and pulled it open, revealing a bathroom, though Tony had to assume Steve just went up to the roof and sprayed himself down to shower because it wasn’t physically possible that the Greek god in front of him fit in the tiny cubby someone rather euphemistically called a shower stall. There was a stack of towels on the back of the toilet, and Steve grabbed what Tony could instantly tell was the least worn from the middle of the pack and handed it to Tony. Tony found himself taking it from Steve’s outstretched hand before he realized what he was doing. Maybe it was the care in the decision, he thought. It had been…well, a long time since anyone had given him the best of what they had to offer out of kindness rather than obligation. It was…nice, he settled on after a moment’s thought.

Steve moved to the countertop area that served as a kitchenette and took two mugs out of one of the cabinets, then looked inside them and put one back, pulling out another. He rummaged through the shelves a bit, then looked at the coffee machine as if it had offended him, a deep furrow appearing between his eyes.

“Um. So, I seem to be out of filters,” Steve said, continuing to frown in the direction of the coffee machine, as if he could somehow guilt the machine into submission. Would probably work in most situations, Tony had to acknowledge as he rubbed the towel at the back of his head, trying to get his hair to dry. Looked like a puppy after someone took his ball away, Tony thought with a light chuff of a laugh. What power in the universe could resist?

“You could reuse the one that’s in there,” Tony replied after a pause, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice and clearly not succeeding by the apologetic look Steve shot him.

“I also seem to be out of coffee,” Steve continued. “I make a mean cup of vaguely-coffee flavored hot water though.”

Tony snorted out a surprised bark of laughter and looked up in time to catch the chagrined expression on Steve’s face. “Sorry,” Steve said again, his mouth tightening as he gripped the now useless coffee mugs. “Bit rusty on the whole host duties thing, I guess. Place is a mess, I know. Still—still trying to get moved in, I s’pose.”

“Well, I take it you weren’t expecting company,” Tony observed mildly.

“It’s usually just Bucky, who obviously won’t be visiting much after I kill him for this,” Steve replied with a slight, still somewhat apologetic grin tossed in Tony’s direction. “Again. So very, very sorry,” Steve repeated. Tony rolled his eyes and flopped back against the futon, then winced as he felt the metal bars across his back. Seriously, how does anyone sleep on these things, let alone someone of that size? It seemed physically impossible, though he’d certainly be game for a demonstration.

“How do you possibly sleep on this monstrosity?” Tony couldn’t help but ask.

“Don’t really sleep much,” Steve answered, too quickly, but Tony caught the slight hitch in his voice.

“We could be not-sleeping on it right now,” Tony pointed out, still vaguely disgruntled and annoyed by just how much it was rankling him that Hot Blonde there was apparently not interested in even a sure-thing. Though, God, sex on this thing would be wildly uncomfortable, he thought as he bounced a bit and felt the metal frame through the cushion. He looked up at Steve. Well, he could probably make do.

“It—I—you—“ Steve stuttered.

“Pick a pronoun,” Tony supplied helpfully.

“It isn’t you. You’re, ah. You’re great. You’re actually exactly my—I mean, it isn’t anything to do with you. I just…I haven’t really been with anyone for awhile. Since my last relationship ended, really, and it wouldn’t be—I’d be using you,” Steve rushed out, all in one breath.

“Now, we’re talking,” Tony said cheekily. “Look, gorgeous, it’s not using me if I want it. Pretend there’s no, ah, transaction involved, if that helps.”

“It is using you, Tony. And I’m sorry you either can’t see that or can’t see what’s wrong with that,” Steve responded, voice tight, almost angry. “I wish I could meet the person who convinced you of that. I think I’d like to have a discussion with them.”

“Well, he’s dead,” Tony snapped as a heavy silence fell between them.  The words had come out bitter and harsh and not at all what he meant to say, though there was the unmistakable ring of truth to them.  He looked down, chest prickling with embarrassment, though having to fight the urge to say more.  Which was a first on that subject, that's for damn sure, he admitted to himself.

“I’m sorry. That’s…well, clearly, it’s none of my business how to live your life,” Steve said, and Tony could practically hear those words being forced out. Someone doesn’t like to give up without a fight, he thought, oddly pleased by the idea that he’d become worth fighting over just because Steve didn’t like…didn’t like what? That he thought it was okay to be used. Well, when you put it like that…what the fuck was he even doing, playing around in some shithole closet in Brooklyn anyway? Sure, this guy was a specimen, but he was Tony Stark. He wasn’t quite this desperate.

“Uh…If you want, there’s a diner down on the corner, right by the bus stop. We could wait there for the next one. Their coffee tastes like warmed over diesel fuel, but it’s hot, and the place is clean. Ish,” Steve amended with a tilt of his head.

“Isn’t it still pouring out there? I swear I saw animals going two-by-two on my way in,” Tony remarked, realizing that he was agreeing when he’d meant to tell Michelangelo here he was leaving, painting or no. Apparently, he was quite that desperate, he thought as he stood up from the futon and walked over to the small window, easing carefully around the easel. Rivulets of water were running down the pane, though it didn’t look like quite the deluge it had been when he’d dashed from where he left the car on the side of the building. He didn’t want to leave, not yet, though he couldn’t quite grasp the why of that. It was just there, ridiculous as the situation was. Maybe it was the surreality of the whole thing that was keeping him, like he’d fallen into a story that he needed to finish.  

“I have an umbrella,” Steve offered, almost sounding eager.  “Maybe.”

And maybe there were other reasons leaving had stopped seeming like an escape sometime between trying to wring his clothes out and getting offered and actually taking the best of what could be given.

“Intriguing lack of commitment to the concept of umbrella. Well, then. Lead on to the caffeine,” Tony replied, spinning around on his heels and starting to follow Steve out the apartment door and down the stairs to the building’s vestibule. Steve pushed the umbrella up, and Tony immediately understood Steve’s earlier hesitation when the thing turned out to have a broken prong that hung listlessly as they walked on quick steps down the sidewalk towards the diner, though Tony couldn’t help but notice that Steve held the broken part over himself and angled the umbrella to shield Tony from most of the weather. They had to huddle for both of them to remotely fit under it, anyway, and after twenty or so feet, he could tell Steve wasn’t even trying anymore, half of him hanging out from under the umbrella’s cover, getting properly soaked.

It was strange, Tony thought to himself as they ducked into the diner, a rush of warm air greeting him. He couldn’t quite put a name to the spread of warmth that ran through him as he saw that a good half of Steve’s body was now drenched. It had been—well, it had been a long time since someone tried to take care of him because they wanted to and not because of his name or his money. It felt…his mind stuttered around for the right word. It felt comforting. Safe. How long had it been since he’d felt like that? Before the debacle in Afghanistan. Maybe long before that.

The diner, as promised, was clean-ish, bright silver metal lining too much of it, like it was trying too hard for a fifties vibe and managed to overshoot nostalgia and land on garish, but there were a few people at the stools that lined the counter, even on such a dreary evening, so Tony held out hope. He and Steve slid into opposite sides of a pale green leather covered booth, and Steve called out to the waitress, by name, Tony noted, for two coffees.

“You want anything else?” Steve asked. “We can have…” Steve started as he scanned the menu. “Toast. God. This is---I don’t know what this is,” Steve finished, tossing the menu down on the tabletop and turning to stare out the window overlooking the street.  Then he was laughing, sinking a bit back against the booth and tossing the menu to the side.

“My life,” Steve announced with a self-deprecating shrug. “I should just re-up and be done with it, but I told myself I’d give it six months. I did get some space at one of those Soho galleries, so it’s a start, I guess.  i share it with a couple of other artists on a rotating basis.  Maybe I’ll sell a piece or two,” he shrugged noncommittally, but there was an intense look he got when he talked about his artwork, and Tony could tell the effort to appear not to care too much was entirely calculated. He wants this to work, probably for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that he doesn’t want to go back to what he had been because he couldn’t succeed at who he wants to be, and wasn’t that just the damnedest thing?

“Been trying to find something steadier to pay the rent, but the job market isn’t exactly great, at least not for someone without a degree and my particular set of skills don’t exactly translate well. Though, I’m hoping to hear back from Baskin Robbins. Start livin’ the dream,” Steve finished with small, accepting kind of smile. “Sorry, that sounded way more pathetic than I meant it. I shouldn’t complain, not to you. I mean—not that you need to justify—or even complain, really, I didn’t mean to imply—“

“Re-up?” Tony interrupted.

“Army,” Steve clarified with obvious relief at being cut off. “Two tours in Afghanistan. One in Iraq. Just got out a couple a’months ago. That’s why you’re—I mean, why Bucky thought…he just—he worries, I guess.   I don’t know what he was thinking. I really never thought for a second he’d go through with—with something like this,” Steve rushed out, like he just had to say it one more time.

“Sounds like he wanted you to blow off some steam,” Tony observed, sipping the coffee, which made him long for the vaguely-coffee flavored hot water he’d been offered earlier. “But you don’t want to. Not with me, at least, which, hey, fine, your call, but you aren’t exactly the kind of guy that needs to call for delivery. Might be a good idea to take your friend’s advice.”

“I told you, it's not you,” Steve said quickly, a flash of something bright and hot crossing his face before he turned away to stare out the window again, watching the light evening traffic pass by, sending up waves of puddles onto the sidewalk. Huh, Tony thought. There was interest there, or at least not as much disinterest as Steve would like him to think.

“What if the money wasn’t a part of the equation?” Tony asked carefully, echoing his earlier question, but more pointed this time.  He tracked the way Steve’s eyes darted to him and then down to the tabletop, studying his coffee as if it held answers, and found himself in edge, off-kilter somehow as he waited for what those answers might be.

“I’ve killed people at fifty meters because a voice in my ear said they were carrying a bomb. I’m hardly going to judge you for what two consenting adults choose to do,” Steve replied without looking up.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I know a bit about laying awake at night wondering if you were on the right side and how many innocent people had to die before you started to question it?” Tony asked softly. Steve’s gaze raised to his, returning Tony’s stare for a long beat before looking back down at his coffee mug 8-ball again.

Finally, Steve let out a half laugh, half groan and pushed himself back up in the booth, leaning forward on his forearms against the tabletop. “You are, without a doubt, the most unexpected thing to happen to me in a long time. So, sure. Why not?”

“Same to you, Brooklyn,” Tony grinned from across the table. The waitress came back and placed a plate with a stack of lightly browned toast in front of them next to a small bowl of jams and butter.

“So, you know about me,” Steve began as he spread a pat of butter over his toast. “What do you do when you aren’t---uh, working?”

“Like to build things. Take things apart, put them back together,” Tony told him. “Most of its useless, but some of it could be something. Maybe. One day. I don’t know. I had some ideas, crazy though they might have been, once upon a time. Granted, it took a tiny near death experience for inspiration, so I’d rather not repeat that, but, sometimes, I think there was something there. I don’t know. Old habits die hard, you know? Can’t just up and change who you are.”

“Who you are might be the only thing you can change,” Steve corrected, eyes firm and unflinching this time as he looked at Tony.

“How’s that working for you, Two Scoops?” Tony challenged. Steve nodded and huffed out a small, humorless laugh as his eyebrows raised in silent agreement.

“Not well,” Steve admitted.   “You really build things? Like an inventor or something? Why am I suddenly picturing Doctor Doofenschmirtz?”

“Oh, I could totally go supervillain,” Tony assured him, returning Steve’s broad smile. He bit into the toast and chewed as he watched Steve, noting the way he had started to relax a bit, slumping forward just a bit, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was a good look on him, though what wouldn’t be?

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Steve replied. “What kinds of things do you build?”

“The future,” Tony responded obliquely. “What kinds of things do you paint?”

“The past,” Steve countered. Tony barked out a surprise burst of laughter and clapped his hands together, brushing the crumbs off.

“Well, aren’t we the pair, then?” Tony asked, meaning it as teasing, but it came out softer than he’d intended, more of a question.

“Guess we are,” Steve replied, the soft, slight smile making a reappearance, but this time, Tony felt his heart constrict tight in his chest, skipping erratically around something new, like it wasn’t sure how to process whatever it was it was being asked to deal with.

They talked through the rest of the toast and two more cups of truly awful coffee. At some point, Tony resolved to have a new coffee maker delivered to the place out of a sheer sense of duty to the caffeine gods. Steve’s eyes finally flicked up to the clock behind the cash register, and he gave a quick little grimace that he tried to hide around the last sip of his coffee.

“Bus should be here in a few minutes,” Steve announced. He dug into his jeans pocket and pullout the same flattened wallet from earlier, leaving what bills there were inside it on the table, then fished around in his pocket again and come up with what Tony assumed was honest-to-God, actual American change, because it had been so long since he’d seen anyone use it. Tony wondered just how long that seven dollars had been intended to last and felt a pang of something that probably should have been guilt, but felt more like yearning.  “Stop’s right outside,” he continued, nodding his head towards a glass covered structure papered with various flyers that housed a wooden bench and a garbage can that was currently being perused by someone pushing a shopping cart filled with cans and bottles. “I can wait with you, if you want?” Steve offered hopefully.

“Sure thing,” Tony answered, wondering if his voice really sounded that high and excited. Somewhere between doing his best half-drowned, wire-tapping rat impression in Steve’s hallway and their entirely too serious debate over Star Trek versus Star Wars, he’d started thinking of exactly how to break it to Steve that he did a lot of things for money, but not that, though he was more than aware just how fine a line he was cutting there, and that Steve’s life, whatever happened after today, was about to get a hell of a lot easier. With the stupid amounts of money Pepper had him donating to various art schools, they could damn sure find a scholarship looking for a recipient, at the very least. And surely, SI needed…whatever it was Steve wanted to do. Fuck it, he’d just buy Baskin Robbins. Yes, this seemed like a good plan, he thought rather desperately.

He slid out of the booth and stood, following Steve outside into the low light of the evening. Stores had turned on their lighted signs, sending a strange, oddly beautiful rainbow of colors reflected on the pavement and pools of water. Or maybe he was just waxing poetic because of reasons.

Reasons was tugging at his shirt, pulling him under the maybe-umbrella against the light drizzle that still insisted on pretending to be rain, not that Tony minded being plastered to Steve’s side. When they were under the glass bus-stop shelter, Steve shook the umbrella out off the side and looked down at the bench with a frown. “I don’t think that’s rain,” Steve observed as he stared down at a large, wet spot that darkened the wood. Steve chuckled and pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time, probably.

“I’ll just stand,” Tony replied quickly, moving behind Steve, pressing just close enough to let some of Steve’s warmth leech into him. “You never answered my question,” Tony pointed out, voice soft and thick. He felt his breath quicken, heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Steve to say something. Anything. Really, anything at all. Let’s talk about the urine-covered bench again, Tony thought wildly.

“If there weren’t money involved…I’d ask for your number. Maybe take you out for something other than toast,” Steve replied stiffly, like he expected a rejection or worse, a joke at his expense. “I—“ he started, then cleared his throat. “I would like to see you again. If you wanted to.”

“You could see me right now, you know?” Tony offered suggestively, pressing closer against Steve.

“I think the first time I really saw you was in that diner, explaining to me in an admittedly somewhat concerning level of detail exactly where Doofenschmirtz was going wrong. And that’s the person I’d like to see again,” Steve replied, turning around to look at Tony.

“I’m not sure what it says about my life that I find that incredibly romantic,” Tony grumbled into the cocoon of Steve’s chest. He felt Steve vibrate with a low laugh at that.

“Like you said, I guess that makes us a pair,” Steve responded, bringing one large hand up to rest against the small of Tony’s back, and it took him a second, but he realized he was being hugged, and wondered a bit at the cautiousness of it, like Tony was breakable or one of them might break, anyway. Maybe he wasn’t wrong, Tony thought, almost idly. Steve let his arm fall away and backed up, but not quite out of Tony’s space, their fingers just brushing where their hands hung at their sides, and Tony couldn’t help but think of just how starved for human contact you had to be for your friend to get desperate enough to suggest hiring it out. He thought about Pepper insisting he come down here and pick this damn thing up, and wondered if he was a lot closer to the answer than he realized.

Tony leaned out of the bus shelter and glanced down the street for the familiar, brightly-lit shape, then checked his watch, quickly pushing his sleeve over the Hublot Big Bang. If the bus was on time, admittedly an unlikely scenario, he only had a few more minutes with Steve before this all came crashing down, because he would do a lot of things for love, but the New York City bus system…okay, so, yeah, he was going to get on a fucking bus.

Steve was frowning down at the phone he still held in one hand, then hit a button and brought it to his ear with a quick, apologetic look at Tony. “It’s the gallery. Must’ve missed their call earlier,” Steve explained.

“Steve,” Tony said quickly. Steve looked over at him, holding up one hand in the universal signal to wait just a minute, but a sickening pit of realization had opened up in Tony’s stomach.

“My painting sold!” Steve said proudly, reaching out to squeeze Tony’s hand. "The one I just brought back.  Someone called to buy it!"

“Steve,” Tony repeated. “Hang up. Hang up the phone,” Tony told him urgently, though he could tell the moment it was too late as Steve’s face went from shocked and confused to carefully blank as he withdrew the phone from his ear and hit the off button, staring down at the device in his hand for a long pause before looking back up at Tony.

“So, the gallery owner said my piece sold. The buyer’s coming to pick it up himself. Real bigwig. You may have heard of him. Even I've heard of him, and I haven't been out of the desert in years.  Seems he buys a lot of art. Told me he might buy more, and I should try to make a good impression,” Steve told him, hands going to his waist as he breathed out. “How am I doing?”

“A lot better than you think you are right now,” Tony replied, offering a wobbly sort of pleading smile. “Seriously, I was about to get on a New York City bus for you. I ate toast. And coffee from one of those foil packages. I mean, saw her open it and just dump it in there.”

“Tony—“ Steve started. “You let me think you were a hooker.”

“Well, I was trying to have sex with you. Seemed expedient,” Tony admitted. “Now, I still want to have sex with you, but with more of the talking and eating together and that holding hands thing we were kind of almost doing. Come on, think of the story we’ll have to tell our friends if this works out,” Tony teased, knocking his shoulder in Steve’s.

“First of all, we’re not telling anyone this, ever. Except for Bucky, because I called him while you were in the bathroom and yelled what will probably be a very confusing message into his voicemail,” Steve said with a firm nod.

“That a yes?” Tony questioned, keeping his tone light, but even he could hear the tense hopefulness in it.

“That’s a yes,” Steve confirmed. “I can’t believe I’m dating a hooker,” he said sadly, shaking his head. Tony smirked and nudged him again.

“You couldn’t afford me,” Tony replied with a wide smile, suddenly buoyant. “Walk me back? My car’s parked by your building.”

“Probably not anymore,” Steve mumbled, shooting a side-ways smile at Tony.

“By the way, what piece did I buy? I couldn’t see any of them in your…apartment,” Tony asked as they neared the building.

“It was a life study,” Steve said, shoving his hands resolutely in his pockets and not looking at Tony, a crooked smile that was part grimace on his face.

“A life stud--Steve…Steve, exactly who did you use for a model? I’ve seen your place. No way you can afford to hire a nude model—wait. I want my painting. I want my painting right now,” Tony rushed out, grabbing Steve by the shoulder as he shoved him along. Steve was laughing and trying to look away. “And I owe my CEO some stock options, apparently. By the way, when you meet her, please call her Madam Potts. I need this to happen.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve objected as they walked around the building to the small alley where Tony had parked his car earlier in the evening. It was still there. Well, mostly, he amended as he frowned at the missing rims.

“So, technically, I bought you,” Tony chortled happily. “Not the other way around.”

“I didn’t buy you,” Steve reminded him. “You were a gift.”

“No returns,” Tony said quickly as they walked up the graffiti-covered stairs into the building.

“Can’t return a gift,” Steve agreed softly, smiling hesitantly over at Tony as he held open the door.

“No. You really can’t,” Tony replied as he took Steve’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anything in these fics entertained you, a comment or kudos is the only way I know that. Either would be appreciated!
> 
> If you liked this one, what is essentially this story in reverse can be found in one of my other fics, Gift With Purchase. Thanks for reading!


	11. Fanart for Chapter 7 (Stuck in a Cabin Hurt/Comfort) by Musicalluna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some wonderful artwork done by the amazingly talented musicalluna. You can check out her artwork on tumblr at stepladderink.tumblr.com. Commissions are open, so hit her up!

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHGu)


	12. Fanart by RosBlues for Chapter 3 (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incredible fanart by RosBlues for Chapter 3 Post AOU Established Relationship Make-up Sex...check out RosBlues on tumblr at rosblues.tumblr.com for more amazing artwork!

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LH6p)


	13. Fanart for Chapter 8 by Superfizz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for the bonus chapter for Gift With Purchase Remix by the fantastic superfizz. Find out more about their art and commission info on tumblr: superfizz.tumblr.com.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHG6)


	14. Fanart for Chapter 10 by maxkennedy24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for Chapter 10 by maxkennedy24.tumblr.com. Amazing artist! Check out their tumblr account for info about commissions and other works.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHGb)


	15. Coda for A Higher Form of War--Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested something from A Higher Form of War, specifically dealing with Steve's scars. I took that as both physical and otherwise. 
> 
> Wherein Steve's issues have issues, Bucky is the head cheerleader for Team Tony, and Tony does everything right.
> 
> Set a few months after the end of the main fic and years prior to the epilogue.
> 
> If you have not read that fic, I cannot imagine any of this will make a bit of sense.
> 
> Please note: This chapter deals with the aftermath of various traumas and issues that we would now identify as PTSD. It also deals with a prior encounter with Hammer that had non-con elements. Please be kind to yourselves and read accordingly.

_Come home._

Tony’s letters had certainly grown far more succinct over the past few months, Steve thought with a wry grimace as his fingers grasped the curling edge of the parchment too tightly, like they wanted to pull something more from the paper. He looked up from the parchment and stared out the open tent flap at the distant, purpling mountains, hazy in the setting sun. It would be full dark soon, the swath of stars just waiting for the sun to disappear before making their appearance, so low in the sky you felt you could almost touch them out here. He looked down at the paper again, running the ball of his thumb over the swirls of the words, not sure if he wanted to feel them or wipe them away. For a bleak moment, he wanted to crush the missive to his chest, hold onto something that wasn’t here for him to feel.

He carefully rolled the parchment back up, tracing a finger over the broken red wax of Tony’s seal as he did, and bent over to place it with the stack of neatly rolled reams of paper stuffed into the large saddlebag that sat under the low, bowed seat of the stool. The tent, though spacious, was hot, almost stiflingly so in the heat that became trapped between the peaks of the desert mountains that surrounded their encampment, but Tony had insisted on seeing the mission well provisioned, and the tent was the least of what that turned out to mean.

 _Come home_. It was intended as an entreaty, Steve knew, though, like so many things with Tony, it was not entirely what Tony sought it to be either. There was a command there, one that Tony didn’t want to give outright, and Steve couldn’t help the small huff of exasperation that escaped as his mouth quirked into a slight smile as he imagined the undoubtedly numerous drafts that Tony had discarded before finally settling on these two, achingly brief words. A pang of desperate loneliness washed over him all at once, and he wondered if it was his own or if it had traveled with the letter like an unwelcome guest. Maybe they were the same thing.

Steve was far better at understanding the winding path that Tony’s mind took now, filled with cracks and crevices formed by years of constant pressure to find some mythical perfect way instead of his own way. Insight gained months later than it should have been, Steve could easily acknowledge now, when their every interaction wasn’t marred by too many doubts and questions and, far worse, the certainty that came from ceasing to ask them.

Once, he nearly lost Tony to that certainty, the absoluteness that sometimes filled his mind, making everything so clear that he could not see what was right in front of him. He knew now that so many of his assumptions about Tony had been cobbled together from his own fears, stone by stone, until it formed a wall around him of his own making. Perhaps at least a part of him was still trapped there, he conceded as he glanced around at the walls of the tent. After all, Tony was reaching out, yet again, and here he sat.

The rolls of letters filling his pack looked vaguely accusatory as he looked down at them, though they held nothing but Tony’s rambling thoughts, a painful sort of kindness that begged to be returned in a way Steve wasn’t sure he was able, though not for any lack of devotion.   Loving Tony was easy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that being loved by Tony was harder than it should be, like an unearned gift that came with an expectation he couldn’t meet, no matter how badly he wanted to do so.

In a few minutes, Bucky was going to come through the tent flap and give him hell, Steve had little doubt. News traveled fast in the camp, and news of the royal kind was the swiftest sort. Bucky would know Steve had received yet another message. It was, by now, a familiar enough refrain, but Tony’s latest letter would give Bucky’s arguments renewed vigor.

Steve couldn’t say why it was so easy to run towards the thing he had only barely escaped those years ago and so damned hard to reach for something else, but he’d run out of reasons to stay here some time ago and had to start asking himself why he was looking for reasons. Tony was waiting for him, and more than anything, he wanted to be with Tony. It was as true as the fact that Steve was still sitting here, leagues away from him, when he could have Tony in his arms, losing himself in the way Tony made him feel. _Home_. He could be home, but here he was, waiting for scouts to return and tell him nothing moved in the mountains save the small desert mice who burrowed in the rocks and the strange lizards who flared their throats in warning at the soldiers as they passed.

Home. Tony, face lit up when he had an idea, the excitement that made him talk with every part of his body, as if words were somehow not enough. Yet, he was so patient when helping Steve stutter through the reading primer. His sheer determination, no matter how small the task, washing over everyone around him and carrying them with him. Hhis ability to see so much good in those around him…how his eyes would darken and grow soft when Steve managed to make him see himself that way, even for a moment. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he really smiled, something he seemed to save almost exclusively for Steve, how his hand felt against Steve’s skin, the way his whole body seemed to melt beneath Steve as he moved inside him, all the things that made him the incredible man Steve had fallen in love with all those months ago. If he rode hard, he could be there in under a week, a tally he had been repeating in his head almost since they first set up camp. It was a span of time that felt both incredibly close and impossibly distant.

“Quit mooning, gods,” Bucky snorted with a shake of his head as he stepped into the tent. He pushed a hand against the back of Steve’s head, giving him a small, playful shove. “Dugan says we’re going back.”

“Dugan says a lot of things,” Steve replied, though he knew from Bucky’s shrewd look that the other man had not missed the lack of denial. He had not decided, but he had, a strange sort of knowledge of what he was going to do without the call to action that comes from acknowledging it.

“Well, I’m betting the letter Dugan received wasn’t quite as sweet as yours,” Bucky pointed out with a sly grin forming as he propped his spear against the tightly-pulled tent wall next to his pallet and unbuckled the metal arm from its shoulder holster, setting it down next to the spear. He unknotted the ties from his leather hauberk and shrugged that off, too, then pulled the undershirt away from his body where it stuck to his skin.

“Dugan got a letter?” Steve asked, though the answer was obvious. He should probably attempt to feign some kind of surprise, but knew the effort would be wasted on Bucky.

“From Fury. Though you know who Fury was hearing it from, so,” Bucky replied with a shrug. He picked up the water bag and took a long drink, then held it over his head and let some of the liquid slosh over his head, running a hand over his face and through his hair to wipe away the cool water. “Gods, I hate it here. It’s too fucking hot to think,” Bucky continued, casting a reproachful grimace at Steve, as if the heat itself was Steve’s doing. “Steve, mission’s over. The Ten Rings are all but wiped out. Their leaders are dead and the rest of the little bastards are either dead or trying to find their way out the other side of this hellhole and wishing they were. But, we’re still here, chasing ghosts and blowing up more rocks. Now, I like blowing up rocks, don’t get me wrong. Not as much as your betrothed does, but I like it. But, we’re not accomplishing much other than making smaller rocks.”

“We don’t abandon a mission until we’re sure it’s done,” Steve objected, voice going hard as he stared back at Bucky, but damn it, he could hear the lack of conviction in his own voice, and he knew Bucky could as well. “I want to go back just as much as everyone else,” Steve snapped. That, at least, had the benefit of being true, and it momentarily cut off whatever it was Bucky had planned to say, though not for long.

“Steve. We’re done here,” Bucky said wearily, running his good hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “We’ve been done here for weeks now. You know that. I know you know that because you stopped the rationing and sent Dendrick and his boys off to Ellis to deal with those raiders who’ve been giving his folks such problems. You’re---hell, I don’t know what you’re doing. Everyone’s ready to go,” Bucky ground out. “Come on, Steve. This…this isn’t where you’re supposed to be. I mean, I understand why this needed doing, don’t think I don’t,” Bucky interjected quickly when Steve turned on the low stool to face Bucky, a protest already forming.

“They kidnapped the King, Buck. Tortured him. _Tony_. They—they hurt him. They were going to kill him. Hell, we saw it almost happen.   I couldn’t—they don’t get to do that,” Steve snapped at him, the words coming out harsher than he meant them to be. “It’s—I can’t let—they don’t get to do that.”

“I know. I do, you know? I get it,” Bucky acknowledged, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. “Believe me, I do. I think you know that,” Bucky continued, and Steve had to look away at that, because if anyone knew the burning, clawing anger that wound its way inside you until you had to let it out or succumb to it, until you weren’t sure if there was a difference, then it was Bucky. “And I understand why you needed to be the one to do it, too. Same reason I needed to be at Stane’s hanging, watch him dangle and kick while the life was choked out of him. I wanted to see that. I _liked_ seeing that. You want to sit there and tell me you’re above all that, and I’ll call you a liar. I saw Raza’s body, Steve, and I know what hate looks like well enough to recognize it when I see it.”

Steve closed his eyes and bent over where his elbows lay on his thighs, letting his head dip low. He couldn’t deny Bucky’s words, wouldn’t deny them. It had been an honorable fight, though he couldn’t say the same for how he had felt afterwards, the deep, dark satisfaction that ran through him when he thought of it.

“I’m not judging you, Steve. Raza got what was coming to him, gods know. But, you gotta leave that here. I know how it feels. It feels good, letting that out. You carry it with you, and it eats at you from the inside, gets on everything you touch, and you just need to get it out of you, and this—this kind of thing lets you do that, and no one is going to gainsay it. Hell, they’ll applaud you while it destroys you, clap you right into nothing,” Bucky said flatly. “You stay here, you keep at this until there’s none of them left, there’s going to be none of you left either. There was a time when I wanted that, wanted there to be nothing left of me, because there was nothing left of them, Peggy and George. But, Steve, he’s waiting for you. You have someone to go to, someone who makes you happier than I’ve seen you since…gods, since I don’t know when! A home. A family. All those things you used to want, remember? What the hell are we still doing here?” Bucky demanded, a rough fissure of unease running through his voice, letting the question hang in the air.

Steve sighed into the deepening silence while Bucky continued to shirk a disturbing amount of weaponry from his person as he stripped down to his breeches. He knew Bucky didn’t understand. Hell, he didn’t understand it himself. Why was he continuing to linger here? It was hardly the first time he put the question to himself, though Bucky’s frankness made it all the more difficult to push aside under the guise of completing a task that was accomplished but for the calling it so.

He ran a finger over the rough ends of the rolls of parchment looping through his pack in large, tanned whorls. Tony’s early letters were so filled with news, questions and plans that the words almost seemed to burst from the pages as if imbued with a life all their own. Steve knew his replies had probably been disappointingly stilted, but it was still far easier for him to read than write. He had tried, though, telling Tony in careful, simple words about the things he saw that he thought might be of interest to Tony. A mill that was running again, grinding grain along one of the river’s tributaries, the arched stone bridge that had somehow survived what looked like no less than three attempts to blast it to pieces, the remains of what had once been a trebuchet turned into parts of a new fence around a shepherd’s flock.

When he lacked the words, he resorted to drawing instead. In return, he was gifted with Tony’s own drawings, complicated designs for new roads, bridges, and city defenses, with long strings of numbers and letters off to the sides that Steve didn’t understand. Perhaps most fascinating of all, early sketches of the what Tony foresaw as a future stronghold on the opposite side of the Realm from Kingstown, an idea born from an offhand comment Steve made about needing an outpost on the far coast, where the King’s presence was more emblematic than actual. That distances had once allowed contempt to breed far too easily, at least with Pierce and Stane fanning the flames. Steve had been taken aback, but pleased, by Tony’s enthusiasm for the idea, which seemed to follow Steve even out here, in the middle of nowhere, a line stretched thin, but still there.

As the months of the campaign stretched on, there had been little and less new to share from Steve’s end of things, or, more accurately, spare few parts of this that he wanted to share with Tony, and he knew his own replies had thinned considerably.   What was there to say? These are the people I’ve killed today, and I don’t know how many more until it will be enough. Enough for what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Bucky called it hate. Revenge. It was certainly that, he could admit, but when he let himself think about it, Steve thought it might be something else, too. Something far more difficult to shirk or spend, no matter how many rings he collected from dead men.

As much as he didn’t know what to say to Tony in his letters, he wanted to say something, craved at least that small connection. And he knew the special kind of pain that came from waiting, being left behind, having spent too much of his life confined by the failings of his body. He hated to think of Tony feeling that way, but could no more have let Tony anywhere near these people again than will the mountains to spew forth their quarry. Just the thought of it made his chest tighten and hands ball into fists to keep from shaking.

“Sometimes I don’t know if the person who wanted all those things exists anymore,” Steve admitted, voice scraping barely above a whisper, finally managing to form an answer to Bucky’s question, though the words tasted like defeat on his tongue. Ash, he thought distantly. They taste like ash.

“Bullshit. Wanting it and believing you deserve it are two different things. Trust me on that. Steve, you got nothing to prove here,” Bucky said, startling Steve from his thoughts. “Not to Stark. Not to anyone. The crazy bastard adores you. The people think it’s fantastic that one of their own is going to marry the King and have his ear. The military has apparently decided to start every sentence with “Captain Rogers needs,” and—“ Bucky cut himself off, eyes flicking up to catch Steve’s, voice going hard as he continued. “And people who needed to be dead are fucking dead, and you need to leave them there and let them rot. Don’t even pretend not to know what I mean. That’s over. It’s done—it’s—“ Bucky broke off, voice going ragged. His gaze left Steve for a long moment, staring at something that wasn’t there, before he turned back to look at Steve again. “There is no reason for us to stay here any longer except whatever it is you’re creating in your head.”

“This has nothing to do with…that,” Steve snapped lowly at him, too quickly, he realized immediately by Bucky’s knowing look. “With anything, except completing the mission we came here to do. If there wasn’t a threat to the Realm, I’d be the first to hang up my shield, but we don’t—I can’t just walk away.” He kept his eyes on the far tent wall, noticing for the first time that there was a small tear at one of the seams, where it had started to fray in the heat and wind. He should have someone fix it, he thought, but it was an idle thought, without any kind of force behind it, the kind you think to not think of other things. Scratches on a wall, he thought suddenly, as if the thought had been shoved inside his head, then breathed out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could see the lines, bright streaks against the back of his eyelids. Sometimes he didn’t, went days without thinking of it, but it was always there, the possibility that he could think of it, lurking, waiting, and he thought that might be worse than actually thinking of it. The deliberate, carefully controlled not thinking about it. It took such effort sometimes, but he couldn’t let it be any other way. He wanted that nowhere near him, nowhere near Tony, as if the thoughts themselves could leach out, spread their taint, and he both loathed giving them that power and couldn’t deny that they held such sway.

“As you say,” Bucky responded after a beat, disbelief lacing each word. Steve watched as Bucky laid back on his pallet and pillowed his hands behind his head, letting out a long puff of air through his nose, then reached over and snuffed out the torch with the metal cone, leaving just a single candle burning on top of one of the trunks that were stacked in one corner of the tent. Steve pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his boots, placing them on the end of his own pallet next to the shield. His sword rested next to his right hand, as usual, a comforting gleam of brightness as it caught the light of the small flame. A small waft of air, barely enough to be called a breeze, managed to slip in through the open tent flap, but it did little more than send the flame to flicker.

It was quiet for a long stretch before he heard Bucky shift on his pallet and roll to face him across the tent. “You’ve got to stop trying to earn something that you already have, Steve. There’s nothing left to fight against. But you’ve got plenty to fight for.”

“I know,” Steve said quietly.

“Do you? Do you really? Then what the fuck are we still doing here?” Bucky pressed. As always, he was the one who refused to take Steve at his word, though there was almost a sense of relief at knowing that, Steve thought, at not being allowed the ease of an agreement he wasn’t sure he believed.

“We’ll pack up in the morning. Leave at first light two days from now,” Steve promised, without looking up at Bucky. He could feel the weight of the decision that had been swirling in his head for weeks settling in his stomach like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake, sending silent ripples across the surface.

“Try to contain your excitement,” Bucky said pointedly.   Instead of answering, Steve stared up at the raised drape of the tent’s ceiling, watching the light move across it. “Not going to lie, though. Some of us like a real bed, you know,” Bucky said, a smile in his voice that told Steve that Bucky wasn’t exactly thinking of an empty bed. Natasha waited back at the Castle, along with the rest of the Avengers. “Nice hot bath. And the food…gods, who knew? Those tart things Thor is fanatical about…have to admit the good life kind of grows on you. Speaking of, can’t imagine what the wedding’s going to be like. Think they’ll have those little roasted birds? You should tell Tony you like them….”

“I don’t like them. You like them,” Steve interjected, scrubbing a hand over his face as he tried to find the most comfortable spot on the thinning pallet.

“…They’re so good. I’m going to tell him they’re your favorites, so you might as well just enjoy them,” Bucky continued as Steve frowned into the darkness. Bucky let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Look, I know this whole show isn’t exactly what you want, but it isn’t every day the King gets married. You could try to enjoy the moment.”

“I’m sure I will,” Steve replied, though even he could hear how hollow his words rang.

“Right. Of course you will. Some kid from Brookland with no name, no money, no lands, no nothing really, except himself to offer, marrying the King. Turning into someone with an enormous amount of power and responsibility virtually overnight?” Bucky asked, pitching the question in a high, speculative tone. “What’s not to enjoy? Nothing there that would worry you, right?” Bucky paused a moment before continuing, as if he expected Steve to offer some kind of response, but there wasn’t anything he wanted to give voice to. What was there to say? He knew that marrying Tony meant becoming a symbol, belonging to the Realm in a way few were allowed to do, and that was an honor. Of course, it was. _A privilege_ , Steve had told Tony once, almost sure he meant it.

 _A terrible one_ , Tony replied, not looking at him.

“Too bad you couldn’t have just taken Thor’s route, announced that the evildoers are defeated and disgraced, grabbed your betrothed and announce that you ‘must declare your love before gods and men before the blood of your enemies dries’ and been done with it,” Bucky said after a heavy pause, a smile in his voice.

“It was a lovely wedding,” Steve agreed, feeling some of the tension pulsing through his body drain away at the memory. Jane had looked beautiful in her crown of flowers holding Thor’s hand with a bewildered smile while Thor beamed down at her as they repeated their vows before the holy man. It had seemed simple, but Steve knew it held as much meaning as the most elaborate ceremony. Perhaps moreso, because it had been paid for in pain and fear, earned in trust and devotion. You could see it in how they looked at each other, so certain and sure. He had been happy for them, of course, but it was the kind of happy that came on the tail end of a wave of longing so powerful that even now, he could feel the wake of it washing over him even now.

“I suspect that is not quite what Miss Potts and Tony have planned, though,” Steve admitted as the memory drifted away, replaced by another, more distant one, faded and indistinct now, overlaid with pain and sorrow etched into charred wood. When he was young, before he knew, he had just assumed he would one day wed in the small Sept in town behind the driftwood door as everyone else did, hands bound together with coarse hempen rope like the ones the fishermen used for their nets that they would have wound together themselves. As he got older, he’d realized that was highly unlikely, as sickly as he was, but when he let himself think of it, that was still the image that drew itself across his mind, even after all these years. The Sept was bones and rubble now, destroyed in the razing of the town, and he would stand with Tony in the Great Hall before thousands, something that seemed both absolutely right and utterly impossible. The person who grew up wanting a home and family was sitting on a clifftop watching his world burn, and he was here, marrying the King, and it didn’t seem like both of those could be true.

It was never going to be a simple as a house by the sea, not with Tony and maybe not with himself, either.   He honestly couldn’t tell if he’d ever truly wanted that or just wanted to want it. He wanted Tony, and whatever that meant, it would not be a simple life. Tony offered so much more, a chance, a challenge, and weren’t those two the same things? He’d always wanted to serve the Realm, and here was his opportunity.   He should be running towards it, not choosing a fight he’d already won and couldn’t seem to leave.

Choosing Tony meant choosing to be more than a soldier, becoming a symbol. Together, they could shape the Realm into something better, but he’d seen enough of the toll such a burden took on Tony to know that it was as much a surrender of some part of yourself as anything. How much of a part, though? Some days, back at the Castle, it was so much, so different, that the only thing keeping him from drowning under the weight of it all was Tony holding onto him. But that was a task he could not ask Tony to bear forever.

“No, likely not,” Bucky responded with a low chuckle. “I know you aren’t big on performing for the masses, but I don’t think understated is exactly Stark’s style. Hell, he can’t fucking wait to have you standing up there next to him, show everyone who stared at you that day with Stern what you mean to him,” Bucky said with a snort that he probably meant to sound derisive, but didn’t quite manage it. “Give you his name and put a crown on your head and let them know that you bow to no one but the Realm from then on. He wants it like air, I swear to the gods.”

Steve swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat that always seemed to form whenever he thought of the wedding. Once, after he and Bucky left Phillips, they had seen a minstrel show with a small monkey dressed in fine clothes danced around and did tricks while the townspeople laughed and threw coins.   It was an unworthy thought, he knew, and one Tony would despise, but he’d found himself wondering how the monkey felt, if it hated the people, if it wanted to run, or worse, if it wanted back in its cage, because even that was better. But, the Realm needed something to bind it together, something full of hope and promise. A celebration. They could give the people that. He could never fully atone for the choices he had made after Brookland, but he could damn well stand up there and play his part and look at Tony until the rest didn’t matter.

“It’s where you belong, Steve,” Bucky continued, voice going low and hushed. “It’s where you’ve always belonged.”

“In a crown?” Steve barked out, too harsh and bitter sounding to be laughter. He hadn’t understood then, and maybe he couldn’t now, as the time drew closer, but he was conscious of a weight that wasn’t there in the way the soldiers and officers looked at him, the deferential nods, the quick silencing of conversation as he approached.

“With Tony,” Bucky corrected simply. “I’ll follow you anywhere, you know that. So will the team. Because you’re you, and that’s enough for us, and I know how fucking unfair that is. I know how much you question everything because no one else will. But Tony’s going to make you earn every step of whatever path you put the two of you on. You need that. To know that he’s following you because he believes you’re right, not just because he believes in you. He’s going to make it hard, but damn it, Steve, when you do, you’re going to remake the world. It should be hard. Impossible, really. But you’re going to do it, the two of you,” Bucky said with a quick shake of his head.

Steve sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I only ever wanted to serve, you know, not rule,” he said into the growing darkness. But he could see the truth in Bucky’s words, even if his mind couldn’t quite grasp it. Steve would see the world he wanted it to be, hoped it could be, and Tony would tell him how they could get it there, and that was something both of them could believe in. It was there, this enormous maw of possibility. A future. A home. It hovered on the blurred edges of his vision, not quite able to come into focus, but there, always there.

“What do you think ruling to be?” Bucky asked, letting the question hang in the air. Steve closed his eyes, spots of light crackling against the back of his eyelids. He opened them again before they formed lines, blinking up at the tent ceiling. “You should know,” Bucky began, clearing his throat. “I’m not going back with you.”

“What?” Steve barked, sitting up abruptly.

“Not right away, anyway. I’ll be there for the wedding, of course,” Bucky clarified. “I need to go home. Brookland. Bruce said it was safe now. I’m a Lord now, after all. I should see what I’m Lord of, I suppose,” Bucky said, voice tight and raw with all the words he wasn’t saying clawing to get out. “I—I need to go, Steve. I need to see it. Them. I need to see them.”

“I’ll come with you,” Steve offered immediately, and tried to ignore the guilty rush of relief at that the thought of readily he sought to use Bucky’s grief as yet another excuse for delay. Tony had gifted Bucky, well, all of them, really, with lands and titles, but it had been Steve who carefully drew the map that laid out the town in painstaking detail, at least what it had been like before the scourge. He had pointed to the small Sept that had once served the town’s inhabitants so that Tony could be sure that Bucky’s lands held the only things left in Brookland that really mattered, buried together in shallow, rocky earth, marked by cairns of what Steve had been able to find that night, one far smaller than the other. He looked down at his hands for a moment. For a moment, in the low light, the shadows made them seem covered with dirt, his nailbeds stinging with remembered pain from digging.

“No. No, this…this I need to do by myself. I never did, you know? You said good-bye for me, and I never did. I think…I think maybe I can now,” Bucky replied, hoarse voice barely a whisper in the darkened tent. “I think I can go back and walk away, and I don’t think I could have done that before. I’m not…I’m not leaving them behind. Not really. They’ll always be with me, but it’s time to stop living there. For both of us, Steve. I see what you do, you know that, right?” Bucky pressed. “You let yourself get so close to being happy you can practically taste it, then you find something else you have to fight.”

“That’s not what I—that’s not what this is. I told you. I couldn’t let them—they hurt him, Bucky! You really think I’m going to just—“ Steve heard himself shouting and tried to force his breathing to calm against the flow of words, lest they carry outside the tent. “We had a mission here. It was the right thing to do. I said we were going back, what more do you—“

“Running off to Phillips after what happened in Brookland. Those men of Fury’s in the tavern givin’ that girl trouble. Pierce. You keep trying to find a fight you can win because the one time you couldn’t, you lost everything. I get it, Steve. Gods know, I, of all people, understand. I don’t know if I was following you or the other way around, but I do know that it nearly got us killed and for what? Nothing. Nothing, Steve, because we were looking for anything we could fight against more than something to fight for. You said so yourself. And that’s no way to be, but you keep doing it, over and over! You could’ve gone with Tony to Ellis’ keep, but you had to stop Pierce. That stupid shit with Culver? You ran off spoiling for a fight with anyone except the person you needed to have it out with.”

“He ordered me to go, you know that. He’s the King, I couldn’t just ignore him,“ Steve ground out, feeling a flash of anger surge through him, tensing his muscles and pounding through his chest, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the memory or because he knew Bucky was right, and he hated himself more than a little for how he had reacted then, when he didn’t believe in himself enough to believe that Tony could.

“And you always follow orders, right? Like the time we found Stark’s supposed weapons maker in the middle of exactly where he shouldn’t be and took him right to Pierce. Oh, wait,” Bucky continued over Steve’s words. “You could’ve talked to him.   Sure, he was a stubborn ass about it, but, Steve, you didn’t see him after we thought you were dead. He blamed himself, rightly or not, so he pushed you away, and you? You let him. Went right along with it, until you found something else you could actually fight. Then, when we got back to the Castle, you went off to fight Hydra the first time he didn’t do something exactly right, and you’d have kept on at it until it killed you, except Tony showed up, and he’s the one thing in all of this that’s been able to pull you away from it. This time it’s the Ten Rings. What’s it going to be next time?” Bucky demanded. “Damn it, Steve, it’s gone. Our lives. Our families. Our friends. They’re gone. It’s all gone! But we’re not, and that isn’t fucking fair, but we’ve got to stop punishing ourselves for living. It’s got to mean something. You’ve got to let it mean something!”

Steve nodded slowly, swallowing back the words of protest. “We’ll rebuild it,” he heard himself promise, not even sure exactly what he was offering to rebuild.

Bucky just shook his head. “Quit trying to fix the past, Steve! That’s not how it works. You’re not fixing shit, and sure as hell aren’t fixing yourself,” he ground out, a muscle flexing in his jaw at the effort. “You’ve got a real chance to build something new here. But you gotta walk away from this. All of this. I’m not saying don’t fight when it has to be done, but there’s always going to be another fight, Steve. Always. It’s never going to be enough.   Never. Stop using the chance to die as a substitute for actually living ,” Bucky said vehemently, sweeping his hands out in front of him, sending the shadows on the wall of the tent to dancing.

“I don’t know how to do what you’re asking of me,” Steve said after a pause, voice hoarse and ragged, each word drawn thin. “This? This, I know how to do.”

“It isn’t me asking it of you,” Bucky pointed out. “But, I think you know that. And I think he’s the only one you’ll actually answer to anyway.”

Steve breathed out, watching the shadows play over the tent while he decided what he wanted to say. Bucky knew him far too well to simply let this lie. “I don’t want to fail at this,” Steve finally settled on.

“You don’t want to fail him,” Bucky corrected. “What do you call this, then? Steve, the only way you’ve ever failed him is by running away from letting yourself love him. I see you do it, and I understand it, I do, because I’ve done it. I’ve done it, and it frustrates the hell out of me to see you doing the same damn thing, because you could have so much more. You want to keep this part of yourself away from him so badly you’ll hurt him to do it and call it protecting him. You’re not protecting shit but yourself. You gotta stop,” Bucky repeated. “Or you aren’t going to be able to walk away one of these days, and you’ll look around and everything you once wanted will be too far away, and that’s a half-life, Steve, a part of yourself you can’t get back once its gone. You think I want that for you? You’re all—damn it, Steve, you’re all I have left! You’re the only one who knew them! You held them, you touched them, you _knew_ them, and if I lose you, too—I’d follow you anywhere,” Bucky said again. “Don’t ask me to watch you do this to yourself. Don’t ask me to watch you walk the same path I did, only slower. I know where it leads, Steve, and you don’t belong there. Please. You gotta stop.”

“Buck—“ Steve started.

“Though, maybe don’t stop right away,” Bucky interjected quickly, almost speculatively. “I got fifty gold coins against Morita that Rhodes is going to show up before the next half-moon to drag you back,” Bucky finished with a smirk.

“Tony wouldn’t do that…okay, maybe he would if he thought there was a problem,” Steve conceded at Bucky’s huff of disbelief. “But…fifty, really?” Steve stammered.

“I might have mentioned to Jones that you weren’t sleeping,” Bucky admitted.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, pushing himself up to his elbows on the soft pallet.

“What? You’re not. Not well, anyway. Half the time I wake up and you’re either wandering the perimeter or sleeping curled up with your head on a rock. Not to mention that the last time I tried to wake you up, I ended up with a bloody lip. Last time it was this bad, we were still singed from running out of Brookland. You know I’m right, so stop with the frown,” Bucky told him. Steve reflexively tried to relax his face, then shot an annoyed look that was totally lost on Bucky. “It’s not like I told Jones to write that or anything. Not specifically, anyway. He is very, very thorough though…” Bucky replied, quirking his mouth up with a knowing look as he rolled to one side and glanced across the tent at where Steve lay on his own pallet.

“I said we were going back,” Steve repeated again, though it sounded petulant even to his own ears. He could never quite win an argument with someone who knew him as well as Bucky did. It was like trying to catch smoke in a bag. You could do it, but when you looked, you really had not accomplished much of anything. And he could never push Bucky away, though he wasn’t entirely sure if the same were true of Tony. They had almost managed to do that to each other not so long ago, stubbornness, fear and mistrust, both of themselves and each other, chipping away at what they could be until it had nearly broken them. Above all else, he did not want that to happen again, but sometimes, it was like swimming against the tide, pushed and pulled one way and then the other, using every ounce of effort to find he’d gained very little ground.

“Yeah, and then you promptly offered to follow me and fight this particular battle for me again, and it isn’t that I don’t appreciate it, but look, you can have the fight or you can have something worth fighting for. You don’t get both, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “Trust me. You don’t get both.”

“I know,” Steve breathed out. “I just—I want to do this right. For him. For everyone.”

“I know you do,” Bucky sighed heavily. “Want it for yourself, too, though, huh?” Bucky asked, mouth twisting into a grimace. “I just—it isn’t that I don’t recognize the pattern, you know? I know where it leads, and it’s no place you want to go. Stark once told me that I needed you to hate in order to justify it to myself, and he wasn’t wrong, not about that, anyway.”

“Buck—“ Steve started.

“No, no. It was true. Or close enough to true not to really matter. So, this is me, trying to make it up to you, and maybe a little to him, too,” Bucky continued. A heavy, expectant silence fell between them, and for a moment, Steve wanted nothing more than to roll over and close his eyes without giving the answer he knew Bucky was waiting on, because saying it meant acknowledging that there was a chance it could happen, and it would be his own doing, like he had already jumped and there was no breaking the fall.

“I don’t want to lose him,” Steve replied quietly.

“Trust me, you’re not. He’d just follow you, the stubborn ass. I was there, remember? We’d all follow you, you know that,” Bucky told him, and Steve knew it was true, the vice that was part gratitude, part a terrible certainty that their trust was misplaced tightening around his chest. “Look, get some sleep, would you? Not like Rhodes is going to show up tonight. Besides, I can’t sleep with you thinking so loudly at me,” Bucky muttered as he shifted to his side and tugged the blanket over the stump of his arm.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he laid there trying to clear his mind, thoughts rolling over each other, making him think of the mill’s wheel spinning in an endless loop as it gathered more and more water in its efforts to grind the grain to the fine dust of flour. His last, disjointed thoughts were of Tony, and the salt air of the sea, and he realized with a pang that he’d already found his home, and it was not made of brick and mortar. A man by the river, holding the moon in his hands, he thought as he followed the tide of sleep. _Home_. It was so bright and clear in his mind as he fell asleep, but when he woke the next morning, he was on the ground next to his pallet, his body tensed as if waiting for a blow, and the dirt in his mouth tasted like smoke.

The caravan set off at a slow, but steady, pace two days later, wagons loaded with supplies and the parts of armaments they’d broken down the day before. The journey back took several weeks with the wagons and armaments they’d brought with them, a long road made particularly difficult with many of the roads and bridges still in the condition they were after Pierce’s march north.

Though his chest tightened and his heart thudded almost painfully when he thought of finally seeing Tony again, the ride back was the same haze of pain and nausea the march to the desert had been all those months ago. The stiffness from the scars on his back seemed to worsen with each day in the saddle, though the weight of the shield strapped to his back was oddly comforting. He still had a few drops of the concoction Bruce had prepared for him before the trip. He could take that, but it dulled his wits even more than the pain, and though the threats were minimal on the way home under the King’s banner, he was still the commander and couldn’t afford a misstep.

He’d only taken it when the pain got so bad he was unable to sleep, when he couldn’t close his mind to it and the other thoughts that followed on its heels, and no one, save perhaps Bucky, who knew too much anyway, would know how much he sometimes needed the dark quiet that emptied his mind when he took it. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he did not want word of his…discomfort…to reach Tony, as word of anything to do with him seemed to manage to do, if Tony’s letters were any indication. Hell, he’d barely had the wound from Raza’s blade bandaged before Redwing was pecking at his hand with Tony’s letter demanding to know what was going on and how Steve fared.

A slight exaggeration, perhaps, Steve thought, feeling a fond smile tug at his lips even as his back protested the horse’s movements, but he had no doubt that keeping Tony appraised of what was happening here was on the list of duties assigned to Fury’s commandos, though he only hoped to the gods that it was Jones and not Dugan, with his excessive love for gory detail, who had the unenviable task of writing the letters. He’d asked Gabe to write of their departure the morning after he’d made the decision, attaching the message to Redwing’s leg himself. The bird had held his foot out somewhat disdainfully after Steve practically pleaded with the usually eager bird, giving Steve a baleful look as he hooked the small, metal cylinder just above the bird’s foot. He almost felt as if even the bird was annoyed at length of the campaign and his regular flights to and from the Castle where he had a comfortable roost in Sam’s room near the rookery and steady supply of fat Castle mice on whom to dine.

In addition to having to skirt areas too damaged by Pierce’s assault to allow for their passage, part of the reason their journey took so long was due to all the additional provisions they were carrying, far beyond anything Steve was used to seeing even at Fury’s camp. Along with triple the soldiers he had requested, there were more supplies, weapons and armor than Steve had quite known what to do with, even given the importance of their mission.

Not that all of the provisions went idle, though, Steve thought with a wry grin. Perhaps most useful of the additional “provisions” that Tony had insisted upon when Steve finally convinced him that the Ten Rings were too much of a threat to be allowed to continue to worm their way into the Realm were Dugan and the rest of what Steve came to realize were his personal guard. Fury’s hand-picked commandos, supposedly, with such unique skills that Fury assured him they would be invaluable for the campaign. It had taken all of a few days for Steve to figure out that the commandos’ task was not exactly the one Steve had been given to understand. Steve had no doubt that if he had fallen on this mission, he would have landed on the bodies of the men Tony sent to protect him. They were good men, though, and, next to the Avengers, by far the best he’d had the opportunity to serve with, fiercely loyal and immensely capable.

He knew what they had initially thought of him. Some pretender with a fancy shield, who caught the King’s eye and considered himself a real soldier, out here to put on a show of fighting while the real soldiers got their hands blooded. He counted that he had earned their respect over the past few months, albeit a tad grudgingly given, at least at first. “ _Careful there little lordling. Wouldn’t want you to stub your toe and get His Royal Self worked up into a royal snit. Happen to like my neck the length it is_ ,” Falsworth’s teasing voice echoed in Steve’s head, and he felt his grin widening. They’d given him hell in the beginning, though Steve was glad for it, because now he knew what allegiance they gave him was his own, not born of any duty or obligation. And when they did give him that fealty, he’d found they all actually worked together incredibly well.

In retrospect, he should not have been surprised at Tony’s machinations, considering how strenuously Tony had argued against this whole plan. That had been…well, that had been a series of spectacularly loud discussions, Steve recalled with a slight wince at the memory. Tony eventually agreed to the premise, but continued to protest that Steve did not need to be the one to lead the mission or, at one point, that if Steve had to go, then Tony would accompany him.

It was an absurd notion, of course, Steve thought, as their caravan passed a decimated field and the charred remains of what had once been a small farm. This was no place for the King, and Tony was needed in the city, working to restore the Realm from the damage done by Pierce and Schmidt and, perhaps most devastating of all, the mistrust and loss of faith in the Crown that Stane had wrought. The people needed their King, needed to see him standing next to them as they fought to recover, not have him stuck out here in some scorched patch of earth, chasing rats down their tunnels. Tony out here, it was ridiculous. Impossible. It was. It _was_.

And yet, how many times had Steve found himself looking next to him, opening his mouth to voice thoughts he couldn’t share with his men or just wishing for the sureness that came with Tony’s presence? It was a selfish desire, to be sure, and he would never compromise Tony’s safety like that, but the empty space seemed to have pull sometimes, weight and form like he could feel it, seeping into him, hollowing him out. Having Tony here, so close to what they’d had those first few weeks when he hadn’t known who Tony really was, was appealing in ways he couldn’t quite put into words.

Simpler somehow, he thought now, at least in his mind, if not reality, he admitted. Tony would tease and argue and challenge and push and love so fiercely, Steve could almost forget everything that made them different. Tony would certainly have had the Ten Rings rooted out of their caves a lot sooner, Steve thought with a wave of admiration. Had he needed that the way Steve had? Needed to see it, as Bucky had needed to see Stane hang, only to deny himself because Steve had insisted it was too dangerous? Tony hadn’t said it, but there was so much Tony didn’t say, especially when it came to asking for what he really wanted. He wondered now if he had taken something that rightfully belonged to Tony in his rush to find familiar ground, or, as Bucky would argue, to keep Tony at some sort of safe distance from this part of himself. Neither possibility sat well with him, but there wasn’t nothing he could do for it now.

Though Bucky had departed for Brookland, or what remained of it, a few days ago, Steve wasn’t at a loss for companionship on the journey, he thought, as Dugan and Jones rode up next to him, breaking into his reverie. Morita was scouting ahead, per Steve’s orders, but the rest of the Commandos were never far from his side.

“Should reach the Castle by sundown,” Jones supplied amiably. “We’re well within territory loyal to the Crown now. Don’t see much chance of anyone trying anything against such a heavily armed force anyway. We could ride on ahead of the convoy, if you wanted, Cap.”

“Would be nice ta sleep in m’own bed t’night. Got a coupla red-headed lasses who’ve been keeping it warm for me,” Dugan agreed with a bawdy wink.

“Yeah, they’ve probably chewed through the bedding, peed on your floors and chased your housekeeper away by now,” Jones snorted.

“Still better behaved than you lot,” Dugan grumbled. “Sweeter, too.”

“Seems like fairly low expectations to rise above,” Steve suggested with a grin.

“Ach, see, our Captain always speaks the truth!” Dugan shouted triumphantly at Jones, a massive smile forming under his moustache. “So, what say you, Captain? Shall we ride on?”

“On the off chance that anyone wants to hear from me, I’d suggest you ride on. Tony isn’t exactly known for his patience under even the best of circumstances,” Captain Rhodes said from his position riding next to Steve.

“You don’t say?” Steve asked dryly, casting a quick, pointed look over at the other man who had arrived a few days after they started out, which led to an ongoing argument between Bucky and Morita as to whether or not Rhodes would have arrived in camp before the full moon, had they not begun their journey back and intercepted him.

Rhodes just shrugged, though Steve had to admit, the other man had been good company on the ride back, though most of their conversations covered the safer topics of the recent mission and the changes to the city’s defenses that were already underway, carefully avoiding the other thing they held in common.

“Fine,” Steve agreed, not that it had taken much convincing. They had been able to see the spires of the Castle rising in the distance since yesterday afternoon, and it seemed to pull them all forward, buoying tired feet with reserves of speed. He felt a thrill run through him at the idea of seeing Tony again, finally, after all this time. He could bury the doubts and uncertainties under the sheer force of Tony’s presence, at least for awhile. He nodded towards Dugan, who tugged sharply on his horse’s reins, and turned to deliver the change of plans to their officers. Steve dug his heels into his horse’s sides, spurring it forward as Jones, Falsworth and Rhodes formed a circle around him.

Free of the heavy wagons of the convoy, the large metal gates of the city loomed large before them in short time. The new doors, far thicker than their predecessors, were thrown open now, the longer drawbridge extending over what would one day become a deep double moat as peasants, builders and soldiers moved in and out of the city. The guards recognized them, and waved them through with sharp salutes. The horses’ hooves on the cobbled stone echoed loudly in Steve’s ears after months across dry, sandy ground, like some kind of pronouncement.

Past the outer bailey, Steve could see the large stables waiting, wide, arched doors open as grooms led horses around the yard. Steve tugged at his mount’s reins, urging him the other direction, towards the Tower and Tony’s private stables, the others following on his heels. There was still a strange disconnect that went with him as he rode through the inner gates into the Castle complex, a half-formed expectation someone was going to stop him any moment, tell him he was going the wrong way. Instead, he saw a few heads turn to watch his small group’s progress and caught a snatch of someone calling out a welcome.

They rode into the long, shaded corridor of the stables, coming to a halt in the middle, where the ceiling opened to give light and air. The leather creaked underneath him as he slid out of the saddle, the hard earth under his feet jolting his muscles. He could feel the pain and stiffness that had settled in some leagues ago, then disappeared with the anticipation of the ride here, snap into wakefulness seemingly all at once. Steve realized he was still clutching the reins in one hand and forced himself to release them, giving the horse a pat on the neck as he did.

Over the curve of his mount’s back, he could see grooms rush over to help the other men, taking the reins and beginning to unsaddle the horses, checking hooves for stones or damaged horseshoes and seeing to cooling down the animals before getting them into stalls. He didn’t need to turn to know that Happy waited behind him.

“Welcome home, Captain!” Happy called out after a moment, clearly unsurprised by their arrival. “We’re all glad to see you back, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Ah,” Steve replied with a slight quirk of his mouth. “Is he—“ Steve started, then stopped as everyone not currently holding a giant animal by thin straps of leather dropped to one knee with murmurs of “Your Grace” as they bowed their heads.

“Steve,” Tony’s voice rang out from the stable entrance as he very clearly tried to measure his steps, sounding more like a prayer or a benediction than a name. “You’re late,” Tony accused lightly, flashing a grin, his whole gait and posture shifting to something far more predatory as he approached.

“Pretty sure I’m actually early,” Steve said, drinking in the sight of the man before him. He had thought he could call Tony’s image up in his mind at will, but now, seeing the man this close, he realized he had never even managed to come close. Looking at Tony was a bit like waking up from a deep sleep to find the sun directly overhead, almost leaving him glare-blind in its intensity, startling every part of him to a kind of awareness he hadn’t known he was lacking. Steve stayed as he was, both because Tony had once told him he was not to kneel to him and because he wasn’t sure if he could get up again if he did.

“You’re later than I wanted,” Tony said, advancing towards him, his dark gaze flicking up and down Steve, first in concern, checking for injuries and cataloging what might be different, then turning assessing in a far different manner, making Steve’s face heat under the scrutiny. How could he have forgotten what this was like, to have Tony’s focus on him, the way it lit him up from the inside? It seemed that the sheer power of Tony’s belief was enough for both of them, the way it felt to be loved by this man, filled up to brimming with the force of it.

Steve took a moment to allow his eyes to roam over Tony as well, his stomach dropping at what he saw. Tony was dressed casually by his standards, a smudge of something dark on his neck, as if he had reached up to scratch there, hair curling and damp, sure signs that he had been in his workshop when he received word that Steve was returning. There were dark circles framing Tony’s eyes, and his skin was too tight on his bones, like he had been when Steve and the Avengers first found him, a toll that Steve’s absence had exacted, a cost he had failed to consider, but now seemed far too high.

“That makes you late,” Tony finished as his eyes found Steve’s. He was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, then gave up, a huge grin splitting his features. Tony was in his arms all of a sudden, and Steve realized by how the smaller man rocked backwards that he had been the one to move, wrapping his arms around Tony and dipping his sweat-covered forehead to rest against the other man’s.

“I do not like it when you are gone from me,” Tony breathed against Steve’s neck.

“I do not care for it either,” Steve answered simply, because that was the truth of it. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile his need for Tony with what Bucky would call his efforts to sabotage the very thing he wanted most, but it was there, this aching need, burning and bright and full of promise. He could do this, for Tony if that was what he needed to cling to, until it could be for himself, too. Standing beside Tony was the only place he had ever felt fully whole, after all. “My King,” Steve whispered into the warm skin there, feeling Tony shudder against him, his hands snaking up Steve’s chest, splaying wide, grasping at where the muscles bunched and twisted under the smooth leather of his doublet.

Steve bent his head lower and captured Tony’s mouth, meaning it to be little more than a reassurance, but it quickly turned to something else entirely as Tony’s lips parted and his tongue darted out to trace the curve of Steve’s bottom lip then press inside with a groan. Steve’s hands came up to cup Tony’s face as Tony’s tongue explored his mouth, the hot, wet heat of him sending spikes of pleasure curling in Steve’s belly. He wasn’t sure how far it would have gone, were it not for Happy’s polite cough from somewhere behind them. Steve tore his mouth away and looked over his shoulder, almost started to find the other men still kneeling there, waiting to be acknowledged, having forgotten all about them in his joy at seeing Tony.

“No stopping. Why is there stopping?” Tony asked, curling his hands into the front of Steve’s doublet and tugging insistently.

“Tony, they—we--we’re not alone…” Steve stammered, canting his head to the side where Falsworth’s head was bowed while his shoulders shook.

“Oh, right. Get out,” Tony announced, pulling at Steve again.

“Wait—what—no, that wasn’t what I—you can’t just—“ Steve began incredulously as the other men immediately stood and began to shuffle out of the stables as quickly as they could, Rhodes covering his mouth with a hand to hide his smile.

“Of course, that was terribly rude of me, wasn’t it?” Tony queried, eyes bright. “Thank you all for your service. You are hereby relieved with the gratitude of the Crown. Now, get out. Better?” Tony asked, glancing up at Steve with his eyebrows raised as everyone seemed to scurry far enough out of the way to consider themselves safe before Steve heard loud bursts of laughter.   “Where were we?”

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Steve objected half-heartedly.

“I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner,” Tony retorted, grinning and curling his hand around Steve’s neck, fingers lightly trailing through the hairs there, sending tingling shivers down Steve’s spine. “I missed you.”

“And I you,” Steve responded softly, watching his breath ruffle the hair curling down Tony’s forehead. “You are well?”

“I am all that I should be, now that you are here. Come. You should eat. Jarvis will have food waiting, probably more than all the Avengers could eat,” Tony promised, threading his fingers through Steve’s hand and nudging him forward with his shoulder.   “Excepting Thor, perhaps. Those tart things? I believe he loves those second only to Jane.”

“You will tell me more of your plans for the new castle?” Steve asked as he matched his steps to Tony’s, the drawings Tony had sent him flashing across his mind.

“Ummm,” Tony hummed. “Wait until you see the latest designs. I have an idea for a pulley system that will be able to lift us up the tower portion without even needing stairs. I saw something used for cargo down at the wharf and thought…” It was enough of an opening to keep Tony talking animatedly the rest of the way back to the Tower, though Steve caught Tony’s enthusiastic explanations falter for a moment as he looked over at Steve out of the corner of his eye. Servants stopped what they were doing, bowing or curtseying as he and Tony walked past, but the curious, sometimes hostile, looks Steve remembered had been brushed away, replaced with welcoming courtesy and the occasional, if quickly hidden, ribald smile. They liked seeing their King happy, Steve thought, wondering if he was the only one who could see the smile plastered on Tony’s face was pinched with too much strain, the excitement in his voice taking on a nervous sort of intensity as they got closer to the Tower.

Steve followed the stream of Tony’s chatter up the curving steps of the King’s Tower, past the guards, whom he nodded to in greeting, and down the long hallway to his own room. Tony pushed open the door, then came to an abrupt halt, turning around to face Steve. A warm fire was already stoked in the hearth, and a tray of food, still steaming with warmth, and flagon of wine sat on the small, round table that stood between two chairs, clearly waiting for them.

Steve unhooked the shield and set it down by the door with a dull thunk, then unbuckled his swordbelt and leaned it next to the shield. It gave him something to do, for which he was momentarily grateful. There was a strange sort of suspended tension hovering in the space between them that felt wrong, knocking him off-balance every time he tried to find the right words to say, though he supposed the effort to chose his words so carefully was probably as much a symptom as a cause. His fingers itched to take out the sword and run the sharpening stone along it, wipe the shield down with the soft chamois Tony had given him until it shone, the routine of it suddenly seeming like a necessary distraction instead of a luxury.

“Ah, so, here we are. Everything’s pretty much as you left it. A few additions,” Tony said with a shrug that aimed for nonchalance and missed by a league. “Um, let’s see--your paints went a bit dry, so I had Pepper replace them. Figured you’d need a new sword, too, after the campaign. This one will be better for your reach and the grip is a little different. I think you’ll like it. Maybe. Try it, anyway. I made you new mail, too. The alloy is lighter, but the rings interlock underneath an overlay, so it gives you a far tighter weave. Like scales, see?” Tony said, gesturing towards a gleaming silver tunic hanging on a wooden frame in the corner. “You can…” Tony trailed off, then turned back to look at Steve. “You should wear it. On the next mission,” he finished, voice going flat and dull. A bright, flaring pain hitting Steve in the gut at that. “Take them with you,” he breathed out, eyes flicking to Steve, then away, but not before he caught the questions there. When will you leave me again? How long will you stay gone from me? Will you come back? Will you have me beg again?

It was like a physical blow, punching the breath out of him and leaving him reeling. He had done this, perhaps without entirely meaning to, but that almost made it seem worse for the lack of intention—the lack of thought—he corrected with a dull ache. And Tony was going to let him do it again, no matter the pain it might cause, because Steve had asked it of him, asked to be treated as an equal, and for Tony, that meant allowing himself to be hurt. Steve could see that so clearly now, the way Tony equated letting himself love to pain, like opening his heart meant exposing a raw wound. Bucky’s words leapt to the front of his mind like they were burned there. _You didn’t see him after we thought you were dead._

Tony had once pushed him away, or tried to, because he knew how much loving Steve could cost him. He’d already felt it. But Tony would risk it again anyway, because he loved Steve, and for Tony, that meant sacrifice. He would pay the price demanded and let Steve take from him what he would, take the crumbs Steve offered and give Steve everything he had in return. This was what Tony had learned to call love. Had not he said as much, all those months ago, sitting on the side of a cliff, watching the nightbirds hunt, the two of them finding something in each other they didn’t know they were missing in themselves?  In the aftermath of the battle, they had been so busy, caught up in each other, in their plans, in what was next, what could be, never just what was. He had missed so much, though maybe he needed the contrast that came from returning to really be able to see what he had left behind.

Steve stared at the room behind Tony’s shoulder, filled with the things Tony couldn’t help but give him, tokens big and small. Steve had once seen them as Tony’s attempts to purchase something that should be freely given, but he had long since realized there was nothing sought in trade. He had not understood, until Captain Rhodes pointed it out rather baldly, that these things were not intended to obligate, but were the ways Tony was able to feel connected to those he cared for, the ways he repaid a debt that only he counted as owed.

They had fallen in love, but neither of them had learned how to love each other in a way that was not born of sacrifice. He had taken, because he had needed it, and because Tony would freely give, but he had ended up with less somehow. He could see that now, in startling clarity. Steve felt himself propelled forward, almost as if wrenched forward by strings, a part of one of Tony’s crank and pulley system, until he was standing in front of Tony, head bowed into the curve of Tony’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Steve heard himself say. The words seemed to echo discordantly through the chamber, harsh and brittle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, the words spilling out of him as he slowly slid down, sinking to his knees. His back protested as his shins hit the hard ground, sending a jolt of pain up the base of his spine, but he almost relished it, maybe private penance, but he welcomed it nonetheless. Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, burying his head against Tony’s stomach, his body shuddering with the release.

“I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you,” Steve babbled into the soft wool of Tony’s tunic. It smelled of oil and soot and metal and Tony. Home, Steve thought.   He couldn’t say when these things had replaced salt sea air and river brine, cool grass and wet earth, but this was home now. “I don’t know how to do this,” Steve admitted hoarsely, one hand still fisted in the edge of Tony’s tunic, the other finding its way to the center of Tony’s chest, feeling the hard metal disc there, seeking an anchor and offering a prayer for penitence at the same time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t seem to stop walking away and I don’t know how—I don’t know how to do this, Tony, please. Please, I’m sorry, please.”

“Steve, Steve, please. Please don’t,” Tony whispered brokenly, bending over and running his hands over Steve’s shoulders and up and down his back, tugging slightly, urging Steve up, but he couldn’t, not yet, not while the thing unwinding inside him still needed to be spent. “Please, gods, I can’t—“ Tony pleaded helplessly, then knelt down on the smooth stone in front of Steve, cupping Steve’s face in his hands and tilting his head up, thumbs running over the light stubble covering Steve’s cheeks, back and forth, coming away wet.

Tony gripped Steve’s shoulders and pulled him close, hands grasping at Steve’s back in a desperate grip, holding Steve to him. Steve wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, only dimly aware that Tony was rocking him in a slow, steady rhythm, a soothing rush of words whispered against his cheek, Steve’s hand pressed tightly between them, the tips of his fingers lightly tracing the top edge of the metal plate where it was gripped by warm skin while his body shudder with the effort not to break.

“Tell me what to do, Steve,” Tony begged. “Please, just—tell me what you need. Let me---I don’t know—what do I do? Please. _Please_. You have to tell me what to do!”

“Let me. Please, just—just let me take it from you. What I have done. This pain that I have caused you. Please let me take it, I need—I need you to let me,” Steve choked out, the words slipping out from somewhere else, somewhere he’d thought locked and left and gone. Tony pulled back enough to look down at Steve for a long moment, dark eyes blazing bright even in the waning light of day that spilled through the clouded glass of the far windows. Tony blinked and looked up, shaking his head, as if entreating the gods in whom he professed disbelief.

“Steve. Steve, there is nothing to take. You have given me all I ever wanted,” Tony replied, tightening his hold on Steve. “There is nothing for you to take that I would not willingly give, you have only to ask it of me, and it is already yours. You know that. But do not ask me to allow you to bear more than you already do. Please—anything, Steve, but not that. Not that—please don’t—“

“Forgive me,” Steve implored bleakly. “Forgive me.”

“There is naught to forgive, but if that is what you need, then you have it. Of course, you have it, Steve,” Tony proclaimed fiercely, dark eyes boring into Steve and pulling him apart like an open wound, raw and abraded. “I am losing you,” Tony choked out around a wretched, heaving sob. “I feel it. Every day, you leave me, and I don’t know how to get you to stay, to get you to let me have all of you, before you are too far away, and I’ll never have any of you. I want to tell you to stay. I want to make it a command. Some nights…some nights, it is all I think about. You’re slipping away, piece by piece, and I don’t know how to stop it without becoming someone I swore I would never be,” Tony pleaded, voice thick with emotion.

“I don’t mean to, I swear. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know—you have to tell me how to do this, because I don’t know how, Tony,” Steve confessed, the words torn from his throat with a choking, wrenching sob. “If I stop fighting what’s out there, then all that’s left to fight is in here, in me,” Steve said, tapping a hand to his chest and letting his head dip down. “I don’t know how to fight that,” he finished roughly. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Together,” Tony proclaimed, for the first time, his voice ringing solid and true. “We’ll do it together.”

Steve lifted his head to look at Tony, a desperately bright pang of hope blooming in his chest, almost painfully sharp. “And if I fail?” he couldn’t help but ask, because that was the dark pit that waited, the one that would take everything from him. He had seen it before, in ash and smoke and salt sea air.

“Then we’ll do that together, too,” Tony promised. “I want all of you. Every piece, even the broken ones,” Tony continued, cupping Steve’s jaw in his hands. Steve could feel the worn, rough places there, familiar now, and still comforting. Strong, solid hands that fixed things. Fixed broken things. He could not ask Tony to fix him, he knew that much, but there was a calm sort of warmth in knowing that Tony did not fear broken things, would not run from them or see them as useless. Tony always saw more than what was there. He saw what could be, and maybe that could be enough for Steve, if he let it. He so very much wanted to let it be enough. “You swore yourself to your king. Can you do the same to the man?” Tony asked, clutching at the leather of Steve’s tunic, voice trembling with the effort.

“I am yours. Always,” Steve vowed as Tony’s gaze searched his face. “You deserve so much more that what I am, but I am yours, my King. All that I am is yours.” Steve wasn’t sure what answer Tony was looking for, but he must have found it, because he leaned down and pressed his mouth to Steve’s, hard and fierce, with none of the delicacy or practice of earlier.

“And I am yours, Steve. But you must let me. You must let me love you, all of you, not just the parts you want to share. All of you. The part that wakes with nightmares and leaves the room so I can’t hear you gasp for air. The part that has a sketchbook filled with eight lines over and over,” Tony continued as Steve instinctively recoiled, either from the words or what they meant. There was a deep well of shame burgeoning up in the middle of his chest at the knowledge that Tony knew these things, a defensiveness snaking up his back, and he had to fight the instinct to lash out at the invasion of his privacy, but something in Tony’s expression stopped him. Guilt, yes, perhaps, but there was pain there, too. And fear. It was that which held his tongue. That, and the realization that on the heels of the anger was something a lot like relief prickling behind his eyes, making his stomach turn over, relief that Tony knew. Knew and loved him anyway.

“It’s not—“ Steve tried, the effort unheeded, because he didn’t know what it wasn’t. It was something. Something that he needed to get out of him and did not know how.

“And I don’t know why, but that terrifies me,” Tony kept on. “I see it,” Tony continued, voice raw and bleak with despair. He stopped, scrubbing a hand over his face, as if that would wipe away the image. It wouldn’t, Steve knew, but there was a strange, faint rush of calm in Tony thinking about it, in Tony worrying, something comforting in sharing it, even as he hated Tony knowing.

“I see it,” Tony repeated. “And it makes me want to tear those pages out and burn them. I want the part that destroys those training dummies down in the yard no matter how fast I have them made. All of you, Steve. I will love all of you, no matter what it is, I swear it. I _swear_ it. A house by the sea, remember? You offered me everything you could give, once. There is nothing more that I want, but it must be everything of you. You’re taking yourself away from me, piece by piece, and I can’t---I don’t know how to make you see that I want those parts, too. You took me as I was, once, broken thing that I was, and loved me for someone I barely recognized, but desperately wanted to be. Please. Please, let me,” Tony moaned against Steve’s lips, but Steve wasn’t sure what it was Tony was asking to do, so he just clung tighter, moving the hand that pressed against Tony’s chest up to slide around and cup the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him closer, letting himself leak out and filling the empty places with what Tony offered so willingly. “Let me love you as you love me,” Tony repeated, voice rough and low, breath hot in the space between them. “Let me show you.”

“Please,” Steve moaned, still unsure what he was asking, but the release of just asking for it was enough for now. “Please, Tony.” Tony surged hard up against him, mouth slamming onto Steve’s. Tony’s hands dropped from Steve’s face to run down his shoulders and clutch at the back of Steve’s tunic, digging in where the scar tissue had stiffened and bunched the muscles. Steve’s mind registered the sting of pain there, but it hardly seemed to matter with Tony pressing against him, his mouth opening over Steve’s, tongue pushing in to claim Steve’s mouth.

Tony’s hands stilled suddenly, then released him as he sank backwards on his knees, one hand going to the floor to hold him up, chest heaving with sharp pants. Instinctively, Steve followed, running his cheek along the rough scrape of Tony’s beard as his mouth glided along the underside of Tony’s jaw, before he pulled back far enough to find Tony watching him, an aching hunger in his eyes that made something hot curl low in Steve’s belly, and he could feel himself harden.

“Bed,” Tony ordered sharply, pushing himself up to a stand, then reaching out a hand for Steve. It was a good thing, Steve thought as he got his feet under him only to feel the nearly forgotten pain in his back surge to the front of his mind with the movement. He staggered forward and wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist, masking the gesture as he buried his head against the curve of Tony’s shoulder.

Tony breathed out a deep, husky sigh, then brought a hand up to cup the back of Steve’s neck, fingers rubbing lightly over the skin there. Steve let his mouth work a path up the line of Tony’s throat and across his jaw until he found Tony’s mouth, then trailed the tip of his tongue over Tony’s bottom lip, capturing the shaky breath that escaped Tony’s lips as he did. He opened his mouth over Tony’s and bringing one hand up to angle Tony’s head, keeping the other curled around Tony’s hip. He pressed them forward on shuffling feet, easing Tony back towards the large bed at the center of his room until the back of Tony’s thighs touched the mattress.

Steve let his hand fall from the back of Tony’s head to trail down his chest, pausing just long enough to drag his nails over the metal plate in the center, earning a long, low groan from Tony. He grabbed the hem of Tony’s tunic and lifted it over Tony’s head in one swift motion, tossing it somewhere out of the way. Tony toed off his soft boots while Steve’s hands went to the waist of his breeches and carefully unfurled the ties there, letting them fall over Tony’s hips to the floor in a puddle on top of the boots.

Tony was beautiful like this, almost too beautiful, without any adornment except the thing that connected them, the metal that kept them both safe, Steve thought, somewhat dazedly, his mouth going dry with a familiar want. It was suddenly too warm in the room, though the fire burned low in the hearth. A bead of sweat dripped down his back, the skin prickling with heat. He was still in the clothes he’d worn for the trip home, but he made no move to remove them, just nudged Tony backwards onto the wide expanse of bed. Tony went without objection, sliding his arms around Steve to pull him to follow as he shimmied up the bed, all wiry muscle and taut, tanned skin, except where it puckered white around the shining metal disc in the center of his chest.

Steve leaned forward, bracing his arms on either side of Tony, then dipped his head and placed a kiss to the center of the disc. It was warm against his mouth, where he had expected coldness, heated from Tony’s body, and that thought made him grow even harder against the ties of his breeches. His tongue flicked out, tasting, the sharp tang of the metal, almost like blood, he thought. It was beautiful. Every part of Tony was beautiful in some infinite way that he couldn’t describe, but knew as he knew the stars and the moon. A man on the shore, holding the moon in his hands, Steve thought again, the refrain ringing with longing and the sureness of safety, acceptance. Home. Above him, he could hear Tony’s low, stuttering half-gasp that turned into a moan as Steve’s mouth moved down, tongue darting out again, this time over the raised skin that held the disc in place.

“Steve,” Tony breathed out in a long, thin keen. Steve shifted his head to the side, swirling his tongue around the dusky skin that circled Tony’s nipple, then sucked the nub into his mouth, grazing his teeth across it as Tony’s back bowed into an arch, his hands coming off the bedding long enough to wind into Steve’s hair, holding him there while Steve laved his tongue over and around the rigid peak. He released it, then moved to the other, giving it the same attention while he used his fingers to rub and pull at the one still wet from his mouth. Tony’s breaths were coming in short, sharp pants, like he couldn’t quite get enough air but couldn’t be bothered to actually breathe, and he was squirming under Steve, even less able to keep still now than usual, Steve thought with a small smile, mouth curving around Tony’s skin.

“It’s been too long. I’m not—I can’t wait. Need you, please, please, Steve, now. Need you inside me,” Tony babbled, tugging at the leather shoulders of Steve’s uniform until Steve obliged and moved up to capture Tony’s mouth, hot and wet and welcoming. Steve pushed his tongue in past Tony’s lips, sliding it along the length of Tony’s, swiping and licking against it until Tony’s shuddering moan echoed, sending a sharp spike of need directly to his cock. He wanted Tony, but he always wanted Tony, wanted to please him, bury himself inside him and bury other things too, hold Tony while he shook with the force of it, a physical release, but something more that always seemed to catch Tony almost by surprise, but this…he wanted this to be something else. Needed it to be something else, something he didn’t know how to give any other way.

Steve tore his mouth away from Tony’s long enough to nudge the other man’s head back as he mouthed a line down the column of Tony’s throat, where it bobbed as Tony tried to swallow. He flicked his tongue into the hollow there at the base, then mouthed lower still, around the metal disc, his mind burning with the memory of how it had once looked, with the other metal plate there, leaching poison into Tony’s body even as it kept him alive and Tony’s surprise that Steve would risk himself to find a way to help.

That had been the start of it, Steve thought distantly as he pressed wet, suckling kisses over the smooth flat of Tony’s stomach and down to the crease of his thigh. When he’d given Tony a chance at freedom, and Tony had chosen to risk everything because he believed the Realm was in danger.   He hadn’t known it then, of course, that it would lead to this, but he had known it was a beginning when he had only been seeking an end, and it had terrified him. He had felt everything he’d so carefully built start to spiral out of his control, taken apart and put back together into something stronger, and how he had relished that, the certainty of Tony at his side, working with him, sharing a common cause, like something that had been unknowingly missing clinking into place. But, he had walked away from that and called it duty. Love. Love, shone through a fight he could win, something he could conquer and reclaim, rather than one that required him to battle his own demons. That was not love. That was fear. Fear, in the guise of sacrifice.

Steve heard Tony’s sharp intake of breath as he turned his head to the side, hot breath warming the silky skin of Tony’s cock that jutted up from the nest of dark, springy hair, full and reddened, a bead of moisture clinging to the head. He cast a quick look up at Tony’s face, satisfied to see the other man’s eyes had gone nearly black in the low light, his hands reflexively grasping then releasing the bed’s coverlet before one came up to circle the metal disc, then follow the path Steve’s mouth had taken a moment earlier.

“Steve,” Tony began, tongue coming out to coat his lips around the word. “Please, Steve,” Tony repeated, voice thready and high, punctuated with stuttering pants of air. “Gods, Steve. I want---I need—please—“

Steve placed a stilling hand on the side of Tony’s hip, holding him there for a moment, everything going quiet in his head, until it was just the sound of Tony’s breathing and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He centered himself low between Tony’s knees and then bent his head, licking a long, flat stripe from the head of Tony’s cock down to the root. Tony cried out, maybe Steve’s name again, but it came out garbled, half a groan. He felt Tony’s fingers swipe across the top of his head for the barest of moments before Tony brought the back of his hand up to cover his mouth, then ran it through his own hair, like he didn’t know what to do with it, shoulders twisting and turning as he tried to keep still.  

Steve breathed in deeply, enjoying the musky, sweaty scent there, a trace of smoke and the greasy tallow Tony sometimes used in his workshop underneath it. He could feel his own cock pressing hard and insistent against the ties of his breeches, and shifted a bit, settling himself lower between Tony’s thighs. He took Tony in his mouth then, wrapping his lips around the sensitive head and sucking lightly, the way he remembered the first time Tony had done this for him that night in this bed, when Tony had come to him, and Steve had believed it an apology or gratitude, and certainly a goodbye, and it only now occurred to him, as he wound his tongue around the soft skin of Tony’s cock, tasting the salty bitterness that filled his mouth, that Tony never again sought him out here. Always, Steve came to him, in Tony’s bed, at least until today, and he wondered at that, the thought buzzing around the back of his mind as he watched Tony come undone above him.

Steve flattened out his tongue and drew Tony’s length further into his mouth, sucking harder now, letting his tongue flick along the pulsing ridge underneath. Tony moaned, low and long, a fierce, guttural sound as Steve let more of his shaft sink into his mouth, bumping against the back of his throat for a moment before he withdrew with a wet sounding pop, searching for air, his throat constricting with panic, tightening against a weight that wasn’t really there. He could almost feel it though, rough and coarse around his neck, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall down and grinding his forehead into Tony’s hip in half-frustration, half-apology. “I can’t—“ Steve coughed out, not sure if he was saying he couldn’t do this or couldn’t breathe or if those were the same thing.

“Shhh, shhh,” Tony soothed, both hands immediately coming to rub at Steve’s head, threading through his hair and down the back of his neck. “Shhh, it’s okay, shhhh, you don’t have to—“

Steve moved back then, taking Tony’s length his mouth again, slower this time, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking at it in earnest now. He heard Tony sigh above him and looked up long enough to see Tony’s dark eyes watching him, alight with a savage sort of triumph that burned into Steve’s body, sending heat creeping down his back to pool low in his gut. It settled him somehow, seeing Tony look at him like that, a strange sort of calm flooding through him, releasing a tension he hadn’t known he was holding.

Experimentally, he moved his mouth down Tony’s shaft, taking him deeper. He pulled off then, until he held just the head between his lips, then shifted his head down again, breathing through his nose as he felt the solid weight of it slip just past the back of his tongue, gliding along the raw roof of his throat. Tony was almost preternaturally still, watching as Steve’s mouth worked around him, the white-knuckled grip he had on the bedding and sharp hisses of breath that occasionally escaped him the only indications of how much he was affected by what Steve was doing to him.

Steve repeated the motion once, then again, finding the rhythm that his body seemed to crave, feeling the slick length slip further and further down his throat each time, the edge of blind panic dissipating on each thrust as he concentrated on the look on Tony’s face, the way he seemed to be splitting apart at the seams, but holding on so tightly, letting Steve do with him what he would. Steve blinked back the hot spikes of moisture pressing at his eyes, then felt one of Tony’s hands settle on the crown of his head as he moved, not holding, just resting there, a connection that both jolted him and settled him.

“Gods, Steve,” Tony rasped out. “You’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I love you so much, love you, love you, Steve,” Tony babbled, the words of praise making whatever was wrapping itself around his chest constrict, then empty, slithering lower, and for the first time since he’d begun this, he was conscious of his own need, hot and hard, a line of wetness seeping down his thigh under his breeches. “I’m close. I’m so close, Steve, you have to—move—move, Steve,” Tony panted, pushing at Steve’s head, but Steve, reached up and wrapped his fingers around Tony’s wrist, holding it to the back of his head again with enough pressure for Tony to understand it as permission.

“Fuck, I can’t—I can’t—gods, fuck—“ Tony stammered, finally losing his fight with control as his hips juddered forward, thrusting into Steve’s mouth while he coated Steve’s throat. Steve swallowed the salty tang of it down, slowing withdrawing his mouth, relishing the taste and feel of Tony’s length sliding out of him as he did. His throat ached, but it was a good kind of rawness, satisfying in some way. Tony’s breathing was still coming hard as he tried to regain some composure, Steve noted as he pushed himself up to his knees on the bed. “That was…gods, I don’t know what that was. Amazing. Incredible. Glorious. Fuck, stop that,” Tony muttered as Steve ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting what remained on his mouth.

“Steve. You—you—“ Tony stuttered from where he lay sprawled, boneless and languid, on the bed. “Do you want…” he started, licking his lips and shifting a little on the bed, watching Steve with a carefully hooded expression. He wants me to come to him, to his bed, because he wants me to know it is always a choice, Steve realized, his stomach dropping, the thought sort of haphazardly slotting something into place in his mind, something he hadn’t quite known, but hadn’t quite not known either.

“I always want you,” Steve told him simply, watching Tony blink rapidly, then run a hand over his face.

“Hard to say no to the King,” Tony said to the ceiling. “Even when you—“

“Don’t!” Steve shouted, Tony’s gaze snapping to his. “Don’t,” he managed more calmly. “Do not even think it. You are not to even think it,” Steve ground out, trying for command but it came out a plea, broken and battered and terrible all at once.

“You don’t know what my thoughts were when we first met,” Tony replied bitterly.

“I know you. I know who _you_ , Tony. You think you have changed, but you are as you ever were. You can just see it now,” Steve said. Tony was staring at him, something hopeful and desperate moving across his features. He was so much easier to read now, Steve thought, when he wasn’t trying to find the plan behind every thought or action.

“That night. I shouldn’t have. I was…I was compromised, and I let it affect my judgment,” Tony admitted. “About a lot of things. I never should have sent you from me, and certainly not like that. I was trying—I thought—“ he sighed, wet and throaty with what he was holding back. ““I’ve brought you only pain. You can’t deny that. I would spend my life making it up to you, if you would but let me.”

“You must stop trying to bear the consequences of my choices, Tony. They are not yours,” Steve snapped, a hot rush of anger surging before he clamped down on it. He wasn’t even sure who he was angry with. Tony, for being determined to take more onto himself than was right, himself for ever letting Tony think that way or some nebulous wraith that floated between them, ephemeral and formless and always there. “I chose to serve Pierce. That was my doing. I turned my back on things I saw there by telling myself we could build something better when all was said and done. I knew the risk of that choice, of what it meant if I was wrong. I could have come to you and pleaded my case, demanded answers, but I didn’t.”

“Even if you could’ve gotten an audience, which you wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have listened. Tried to get you into bed, sure, but actually listened?” Tony said dismissively.

“But you did! You did listen, Tony. Out there, when you were a prisoner and had no reason to trust any of us, you listened. You believed us, or believed us enough to know that something was wrong. Besides, I’ve been told I’m rather stubborn when it comes to things I believe in. What makes you so certain I would not have pressed my case until you heard it?” Steve demanded, attempting to find humor, but coming away lacking.

“They would have kept you from me, Steve, you must know that. Stane and the rest of them. They would have wanted you dead,” Tony said tightly. He didn’t need to define who ‘they’ were. Stane and the rest of them had once wielded enough power to do exactly that, Steve was well aware, but the possibility of death, even if he had fully understood the threat then, had never been what kept him away. “You must stop blaming yourself for a fault that was never yours.”

“You are quick to grant me forgiveness for my poor choices because they were born of good intent, but you do not allow the same to yourself,” Steve pointed out. “You would have listened,” Steve insisted, feeling the truth of it as soon as he said the words. “You would have hated it and argued and tried to find some way that it wasn’t true, but you would have listened. I didn’t know that, then, but I should have tried. I owed it to you—to me, to the Realm—to at least try. I—I chose to fight against something, to join up with Pierce, without really understanding what I was getting myself into. I was angry, of course, but I wanted the fight. I chose disloyalty because I needed to have the fight in front of me, waiting for me, instead of coming here and trying to make it right. I’ve been told I do that,” Steve finished with a flat grimace.

“We are both of us quick to grant each other an absolution we cannot seem to grant to ourselves,” Tony observed, then fell quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed, staring at nothing.  “You would see the best of me, and I can’t even bring myself to correct you. Not really. I want it far too much, selfish bastard that I am. That night,” Tony began again, then stopped himself and took a deep breath, turning to look at Steve with an unwavering gaze. “You don’t know—you don’t know what I’m capable of. When it comes to you, anyway. That night… I thought you would be better off away from me. I still think that might be true. I see it. Every day, I see _you_. You, in pain, and I don’t know what to do about it except let you go again and again, if that is what you ask of me, but I don’t think I’m strong enough this time. This time,” Tony laughed harshly. “As if I was able to before. I should hate myself a little for that, but I cannot change it. I won’t. That is the thing I cannot do.”

“That is all I ask of you,” Steve said quietly, the words he had been trying to find all the way home falling into place. “Do not let me go. Do not let me go, even when I don’t know how to stay. Promise me that.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking, just trusted Tony to know, to understand what he meant, what he needed.

Tony sat up and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, pressing his cheek to Steve’s chest. “Your path shall be my own,” Tony whispered, lifting his head so that Steve could look down at him, eyes flashing with something hard and almost exultant. There was sureness there, absolute and uncompromising, and Steve could feel it sweeping through him like a wildfire, painful and cleansing. “I swear it.”

Steve stood up from the bed, turned away from Tony and began methodically stripping off his uniform, boots first, then the leather tunic and belt, followed by the undershirt and finally unlacing his breeches and pushing them off. He could feel the firm weight of Tony’s gaze on him as he did, watching everything with the same intensity of focus he got when he was down in his workshop, mixing his metals and potions, lost in what he was doing. As he straightened, he couldn’t help but wince at the sudden bite of pain that striped across his back. He didn’t try to hide it, not this time. He had sworn, and Tony asked this of him, so he would give it, all of it, all of him, because Tony had promised.

Steve sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the soft mattress give underneath him as he did and stared at the rest of the room, filled with all the things Tony had given him. He is building a home where there is nothing of him, Steve realized with a sudden burst of pain. There is none of him here. Was it because he had not let Tony in? He wasn’t sure, but he could see it now, the way Tony helped him build his walls, would give him that if it meant Steve would come to him when he had need of him and would allow that to be enough. Steve had once assured Tony that he was everything, but he had never let him be anything for him, not really, holding in abeyance the parts of himself Tony wanted most. He had kept Tony, who offered all of himself that there was to give, at arms’ length until he almost could no longer reach him.

The distance between them was so clear now, and Steve knew he had been the one to put it there. For a brief moment, his mind shuttered, and he could smell the sea air, feel the wind against his face and see his village in the distance, except now, there was a man on the shore he knew, calling to him and he was still sitting there on the cliff, watching as the fires grew closer and closer. Down there was ash and death and loss, yes, but down there was life and love, too. There was nothing for him up here except the safety of barren rock, an illusion of gaining something, without risking anything. As if such a thing were possible.

“Does it hurt?” he heard Tony ask from behind him on the bed. He felt it dip and move as Tony crawled down it, the heat from the other man’s body warming him as Tony drew closer. “Damn it, Steve, you should’ve said something! What the hell were you thinking? You shouldn’t have been—fuck. I’ll get Bruce. Just—just stay here, okay? Don’t move. No, wait, should you lie down? How bad is it?” Tony demanded, the litany rolling off his tongue in one long stream of panicked words.

“Not so very much,” Steve assured him automatically. It wasn’t true, but the pain was almost welcome now, a steady, stinging ache he could focus on, something that could be fixed.

“Don’t you fucking sit there and lie to—“ Tony began, anger and frustration and maybe some unwarranted guilt warring for dominance.

“Touch me,” Steve broke in, keeping his eyes on the far wall opposite the bed. There was a painting there, fishing boats lining up with the day’s catch, that he knew Ms. Potts had chosen at Tony’s request. It wasn’t Brookland, not really. There were too many homes dotting the waterfront and the dock was too big and finely wrought, but it was…it could’ve been. In another life, it could have been, and that was close enough, mainly because he was keenly aware that it was important to Tony that it was close enough.

“—me when I can see that you are in pain and—wait--I don’t—what?” Tony stammered.

“Touch me,” Steve repeated. “Just touch me. Like this,” he swallowed, throat suddenly dry, the words stuck there like they were bathed in tar. “Touch me. Where I can’t see you.”

“You’re in pain,” Tony responded carefully after a long pause, each word stunted with all the things Tony wanted to ask and didn’t really want to know.

“I’d rather this kind of pain than the other,” Steve said, and found that it was true, though he wasn’t even sure where the words themselves came from. It was a better kind of pain, this stiff burning tightness in his back, than thinking about the things behind it. Easier somehow to feel this physical hurt, focus on that, but he thought that easier might not be better, not really. His mind playing tricks on him, giving him ways not to think until he lost himself to dreams that had no such barriers. There was a phantom pain tingling up and down his arms, and he remembered it, the sting of feeling coming back to them. It wasn’t real, but it was real enough, he thought, a deep shudder wracking his body. Behind him, he could hear Tony draw in a shaky breath, but he said nothing. “Please. Please, Tony. It—I need you. To do this for me.”

“If you are sure,” Tony replied after a pause.

“I am. You won’t let me go. You swore it,” Steve choked out, not sure if he wanted it to begin or be over, both thoughts roiling around in his head. He was still hard, and could feel the tightness and heat roiling deep in his belly, the strain just this side of painful. “Please touch me.”

He tensed, expecting Tony to begin right away, and was surprised when nothing happened for a long moment. Then he felt warm breath at the back of his neck, followed by a soft kiss. Tony’s hands stroked lightly up the sides of his ribs, just under his arms, fingers skimming across the skin there, lighting Steve’s body up from the inside.

Then Steve felt Tony’s mouth in the middle of his back, between the shoulder blades, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the raised skin there. He could feel the heat and wetness of it, but little else, the scar there too deep to have left much sensation, but the shock of it, the delicate attentiveness, the way Tony let his cheek lay against the skin for a beat after the kiss, was almost too much. A shuddering, breathy sob he hadn’t realized he had been holding in escaped him as Tony rolled his mouth along the line of the welt, dragging his lips over the scars that crisscrossed Steve’s back.

“T—Tony,” Steve gasped, his whole body quaking, muscles going rigid and static as if waiting for the fall of a blow. It made no sense, even in his head, the thought was disjointed and wrong, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “Please,” Steve said again, this time completely bereft of what he was asking, just trusting Tony to give it.

“You’re beautiful, Steve,” Tony whispered into his skin, the heat of the words seeming to emblazon them there, absorbing into him as they cooled. “Beautiful.”

One of Tony’s hands was running up and down Steve’s back, fingers splayed wide as the passed over the raised skin there while Tony’s mouth scalded across the worst of the weals, the skin too damaged there for Steve to really feel it, but he knew. He _knew_ , and it was enough. There are many ways to say you love someone, Steve thought, but nothing greater than seeing the damaged parts and loving those as fiercely as any other, perhaps moreso because they needed it more. Tony would never look away from him, never tell him it was too much or too difficult, and that, that safety, that sanctity, that was home, not some bit of earth and stone.

Tony lifted Steve’s hand, threading his fingers through Steve’s, which forced Steve’s fists to unfurl, then placed a kiss to the inside of Steve’s wrist before gently placing the hand on top of Steve’s thigh. He did the same with the other hand. When he was done, he snaked under Steve’s arm and fisted it over Steve’s heart, like he was holding something in, and maybe he was.   He hadn’t realized he was shaking until Tony’s hand pressed firmly there, holding him tight against the press of Tony’s mouth against his back.

“Beautiful and perfect, so damned perfect, Steve. Please believe me. Please. Please let me. Let me love you. Let me love you as you are, as you love me. You have no idea what I see when I look at you. I see everything. Everything, Steve. Please, Steve, you are everything. Please let me,” Tony pleaded, his mouth grinding hard enough into Steve’s back that Steve could feel the scrape of teeth and a dampness where Tony’s cheek pressed against the expanse of Steve’s back. The hand that had been rubbing lightly across the skin turning grasping, digging into the skin as if Tony could pull something out of him, and maybe he could.

Steve released a shuddering breath, then closed his eyes let his head fall back against the cradle of Tony’s shoulder, both a surrender and a plea, because it was dark against his eyelids, and he wanted desperately for it to stay that way. He felt Tony shift behind him, the metal of the disc a sudden coolness against the heated skin of his back. Tony kissed the side of Steve’s head, hard and fierce, then moved the hand fisted over Steve’s heart down to cup the hard length of Steve’s cock, just holding it in his palm, warm and slick with the oil someone, probably Jarvis, Steve realized with a rush of embarrassment, kept atop a low candle by the bedside. It felt good, just to be held, touched like that.

“Please,” Steve repeated, that one word seeming to mean something more to both of them.

“There is nothing to prove here, Steve,” Tony said, warm breath tickling against Steve’s ear. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You swore. You swore,” Steve ground out, voice raw with strain. “You won’t let me go.”

“I won’t. I swear it, Steve,” Tony promised, the words coming out hard and brittle, an edge of roughness to them that was almost savage. “I swear it. I will do anything you ask of me.”

“Then take this. Take this from me,” Steve heard himself husk out, a hollow, empty sound in the quite of the room. “Don’t let me go.” Rationally, Steve knew he asked the impossible, unfairly so, even. There was nothing and everything to take, but Tony occupied the space between gods and ordinary men, and if it could be done, Tony would make it so, and that was enough to cling to for now. It was enough that Tony would try, would want to, and not care, or care too much, Steve wasn’t sure which it was, but the line distance between those things didn’t seem to matter now.

Tomorrow, it would be his again, but tonight…tonight, he could let Tony take it away, and that was close enough, he thought, the image of a too-fine dock and a row of houses that didn’t belong flashing through his mind. Close enough because Tony gave it to him, and he could allow it to mean what he needed it to mean, at least for tonight.

A wracked sobbing sigh echoed against Steve’s cheek, before he felt Tony begin making long strokes up and down his length, slow and gentle at first, then harder, circling his fingers around the tip twisting his wrist in a practiced motion. Steve could feel the pressure building, coiling somewhere deep inside and ending at the head of his cock where Tony’s deft fingers stroked and rubbed. Steve could see them then, floating behind his eyelids, bursting bright as his body tightened, the lines, eight of them. Seven and a half, really. The impulse to make it right, to fix it, make there be eight of them was overwhelming for a moment. He could feel the air leave his chest like it was sucked out, just gone. Going under, he thought distantly, though that made no sense.

“Look at me,” Tony’s voice commanded loudly into his ear, and Steve’s eyes snapped open finding Tony’s steady gaze like a beacon. “This is me, making you feel this way. Me, Steve. Who loves you more than anything. I’ve got you. Give this to me, Steve. Let me, please. Please, let me.”

He came with a wracking cry scraped out of him and turned into Tony’s embrace. He could hear a steady rush of words falling from Tony’s lips, but they were formless, like trying to separate the sound of each wave, and carried the same power to move the world. Tony’s hands came up to cup his cheeks, drawing Steve’s head up to look at him. “Are you alright?” Tony asked, eyes searching up and down Steve’s face.   He ran a hand through Steve’s hair, smoothing it back from his sweat-damp forehead. “Steve?” Tony pressed.

“I love you,” Steve replied, and realized that was the only answer he could give. “I love you,” he repeated, leaning forward into the curve of Tony’s neck.

Tony sighed and tightened his hold. Steve could feel the fisted knuckles of Tony’s hand digging into his back, up and down the bones, kneading over stripes of mottled, unyielding flesh. He wondered if Tony was even conscious of the motion. It was strangely soothing, like he was being molded back together, shaped and reforged.

“I won’t let you go. I won’t. I can’t,” Tony breathed out, the last coming out thin and brutal, a promise. He was rocking Steve slightly in his embrace, as if the words themselves had force, and maybe they did. There were many ways to show you loved someone, and Steve could see the detritus of Tony’s attempts throughout his room, but this, this determination Tony had to find a way, was how he showed his love. He gives without expectation of return, Steve thought.

“You would just follow me,” Steve said, remembering Bucky’s words. A smile started to curve his mouth at that, what had once seemed impossibly absurd having the air of the inevitable now. Tony would do it, too, Steve thought with a surge of fondness. But, he shouldn’t have to follow. He would let Steve lead, but he would always see the world from a vantage Steve knew he could not. I will walk the path, Steve though, but Tony was made to fly above the world, and you can only truly see where you are going when you have both.

“I would, at that,” Tony admitted, voice lighter with a wry sort of amusement, eyes crinkling at the corners before his face smoothed and stilled. “I would follow you anywhere.”

“No,” Steve corrected, catching Tony’s quick frown. “Together. We’ll do this together, Tony. I think…I think like you said. Before. In the woods when we were on the way to Lord Ellis’. I think we were meant to.” Tony opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, lips flattening into a thin line as he studied Steve, looking for gods only knew what, though he appeared satisfied enough, face softening around the ghost of a smile.

“So it shall be,” Tony vowed, voice low and quiet. Tony’s dark eyes were lit with the flickering light of the fire from the hearth, and Steve was suddenly conscious that they were both naked, his skin flush and warm, as much from Tony’s nearness as the fire.

Steve brushed his lips almost hesitantly over Tony’s, just the barest touch, all the frenetic urgency from earlier sloughed away. He brought a hand up to cup Tony’s jaw, applying just enough pressure to urge Tony backwards on the bed. Steve looked down at him, his breath hitching in his throat for a moment like he had swallowed too much air. He traced light fingers from the back of Tony’s knee up the hard thigh muscles and wrapped it around the v of Tony’s hip where the bone jutted up against the skin.

Tony chased after his lips, bringing a hand around the back of Steve’s head to hold him there, deepening the kiss. As much as he enjoyed the usual frantic energy that seemed stitched inside Tony by the barest of threads, he loved seeing Tony like this, soft and almost pliant. It felt as if he were being given some rare gift, having Tony this way, just for him. Steve drew his mouth back long enough to look down at Tony again. “I love you,” Steve whispered huskily. “I am home.” It was a truth and a vow, he supposed, and could tell by the way Tony’s eyes lit up that Tony knew it for what it was.

“As am I,” Tony breathed out, pulling Steve’s head down for another kiss, harder and deeper, full of promise and longing. They took their time with each other this time, unhurried touches exploring each other anew. Steve ran his hands up and down Tony’s chest, locking his arms around Tony’s back and pulling him on top of him. He liked the feel of Tony spread out over him, all warm skin and hard lines.   Steve kissed a long line down Tony’s neck and shoulder as Tony groaned and dipped his head to find Steve’s mouth again, the kiss turning hot as Tony melted against him. He wasn’t sure how long they went on like that, but by the time he moved Tony to his back and settled between his legs, Tony’s eyes were dark orbs, his skin flushed and damp, hair in disarray from Steve’s hands and every word half a gasp.

“You treat me like your sword or that damn shield,” Tony groaned as Steve worked a second oil-slicked finger in and out of him, stretching gently. Tony didn’t exactly sound disappointed at the notion, Steve thought, feeling warmth flood him, his already hard cock straining even more. He liked this part, watching Tony fall apart, writhing and squirming around Steve’s hands until Steve felt comfortable Tony was ready, usually sometime long after Tony started insisting he was. Tonight though, Tony was unnaturally quiet, letting Steve work his body to readiness without protest, occasionally sighing shakily and watching Steve with something approaching reverence.

Steve pushed another finger in and gave Tony a moment to adjust, though the other man was pushing down against Steve’s hand, eyes wide and glassy as he watched Steve. By the time Steve finally pushed inside him, Tony was loose enough that he could press all the way inside in one long, slow thrust. Tony let out a thin, reedy wail, hands grappling for the coverlet and bunching white-knuckled around the golden threads that embroidered a swirling pattern into the deep blue bedding. Steve moved slowly at first, enjoying the slick glide in and out of Tony and seeing Tony’s eyes go unfocused as his body rocked in time with Steve’s thrusts, a stuttering string of incoherent half-gasps, half-moans falling from his lips as Steve found the place deep inside him. Steve ran a slickened hand up and down Tony’s cock, coating his length with oil before starting to rub in earnest, punctuating each stroke with a twist of his wrist, as Tony had done. He heard Tony cry out his name, body quaking and arching beneath Steve’s as he plunged in, again and again.

“Tony,” Steve groaned, drawing out the word as his pace picked up, hips slamming harder into the wet heat of Tony’s body. He wrapped his hands around Tony’s hips, lifting him slightly and at once feeling the welcoming depth. He forced his fingers to unflex where they gripped Tony’s hips, only to have Tony smack a hand down on top of Steve’s, clawing and pressing at Steve’s fingers to keep him there. He should object, he thought distantly, leaving bruises on Tony’s—on the King’s—skin, but he kept his hands there, if anything, digging in harder as Tony let out a long, keening moan.

It wasn’t as long as Steve would have liked before he felt the familiar tingling tightness scraping everything out of him almost too suddenly, like it was being ripped out of him from somewhere deep inside. He came shouting Tony’s name, hips canting roughly through the last few strokes in and out of Tony as he rode the cascade of feeling. He collapsed on top of Tony, almost numb from the force of it, one hand still trapped between them, wrapped around Tony. He could only respond somewhat dazedly when Tony crushed his mouth to his for a searing kiss.

“You—you didn’t—“ Steve started, breaking away from Tony’s mouth and feeling the familiar warmth of a blush creep up his neck as he carefully slid out of the tight sheath of Tony’s body.

“M’good,” Tony slurred, letting his arms droop lazily from Steve’s shoulders. “I am,” Tony reiterated at Steve’s frown. “My chest,” he offered by way of explanation. “Bruce said it could happen. Oh, don’t get that face, gods. You didn’t do anything wrong. At all, Steve. Trust me. Sometimes, it’s nice. Not to worry about it, I mean. Just let you,” Tony broke off, looking towards the dark windows where the translucent panes splintered with firelight. “I like to just be yours sometimes,” he finished as he looked back at Steve, eyes warm and soft. Tony leaned up, placing a light, fluttering kiss against Steve’s lips, then nipping the bottom one playfully.

“You are always mine,” Steve growled roughly, an edge of possessiveness stoking something sharp up his spine and into his chest. “Always were. The gods marked you so I would know it.”

“Oh?” Tony mused, rolling his body towards Steve’s and running a hand idly up and down Steve’s back, grinning widely the whole time. “How so?”

“They put my shield over your heart,” Steve told him, tracing a finger over the metal disc, then widening his hand to cover it. “So that I would know.” He could hear Tony’s sharp intake of breath in his ear, but just kept his hand there, barely a weight though it seemed to hold Tony immobile. Tony blinked rapidly at him, sucked in a shuddering breath, then opened his mouth to say something before promptly closing it again. Instead, Tony just closed his eyes and bent his head forward, pressing his forehead to the center of Steve’s chest and wrapped his hands under Steve’s arms, locking them together behind Steve’s back.

“You see strength and beauty and purpose in what I would see as damaged and broken,” Tony said into Steve’s skin, his lips ghosting warm breath against Steve’s chest. “You always have. You loved me when I was no one and when I was someone you should by rights have despised. I see you the same way, but I need you to let me, Steve. I would show you, if you will but let me. Let me love you as you do me. That is all I ask. Please, Steve. Let me. I need you to let me, Steve, please. Please.”

 _Come home_.

It was the same plea, Steve realized, and the same answer waited to be given.

“You believe I gave that vow to my King, to some symbol greater than the man you are, but I gave it to you without any crown, in the woods when it was just us. It was always you, Tony. You credit me with seeing things in you that were already there. You are the one who took something that would have destroyed a lesser man and made it something more, something strong,” Steve continued, voice scratching against the words.

“It was the metal, not me, not really. I just—“ Tony started.

“I’m not talking about the disc,” Steve corrected.

“Oh,” Tony replied, eyes wide on Steve for a beat before he looked away.

“You saw injustice and tyranny in the faces and stories you heard from people who should have been your enemies, and your first thought was how to right those wrongs, how to build something better from it. My first thought is how to stop it. To keep fighting these fights until I won. That was all I wanted. To win, which only ever seemed to mean not losing. Then you came along and you--you blame yourself for far more than your share, and put me up on some damn pedestal, when it’s you…it’s you, Tony—I can’t--“ Steve choked out, the words spilling out of him too quickly. “You hope. You dream. You see a future of possibilities and promise. You have always seen in me the things you are blind to in yourself, and I don’t know why—why you can’t see what is so clear to the rest of us. It is hope that makes the reality worth living. It is dreams that stir the souls of men. I am one among thousands who would dare anything for you, and not because of some title, Tony. I would follow you anywhere, but you—you and the rest of them—you want me to be this—this person that I don’t know how to be. You want a prince, and I am a soldier. I don’t know how to be what you want me to be. I don’t—I’m not---I need---” Steve stuttered, reeling for the right words.

“Tell me what you need. Anything, Steve,” Tony urged. He was gripping Steve too tightly, fingers digging in, eyes almost manic. “Ask me. Let me.”

“You make things better, and I destroy them. Life and death,” Steve said flatly.

“That isn’t—“ Tony cut in.

“The Realm needs both,” Steve kept on as if Tony hadn’t spoken. “I know that, but I need—“ Steve stopped, his voice catching in his throat. “I need you to be those things for me when I cannot.”

“Steve. These hopes and dreams…this future you credit me with seeing…who do you think fills those?” Tony asked quietly, rasping around the words and making Steve think of stone against steel, honing an edge to the kind of sharpness that makes men bleed. “They are yours already. We are not life and death, as if those are two separate things to be parsed. As if you can have one without the other. They are the same loop of thread. That is us, Steve. What is life without love? What is death without hope? Only through one can the other have any meaning. You think I want you to be something you are not, but that is who you have been trying to be the past few months, someone you think I want, not who you are, and it is tearing you apart,” Tony said gently, bringing a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw, thumb stroking lightly along the curve of bone there. “I see it. And it kills me, and I don’t know what to do to make you see that I would have you, just as you are. Not a perfect prince, but a good man. A soldier, who wields a shield. You think you seek the fight? The win? You have only ever sought to protect those who stood in the way of powerful people who would use fear and cruelty to abuse that position because they could. If that is death, it is one born of sacrifice. And what is that if not hope?”    

Steve leaned his head down and pressed his forehead to Tony’s. He could feel his muscles tighten with tension, though in response to what, he wasn’t sure. He should want to hear this, have this benediction, this release, and a part of him ached to hear it, but some other part, the one that coiled deep inside, in the dark, black regions wanted to rail against Tony’s words. No, he corrected, wanted to run from them, and that’s what the fight was, when you stripped everything else away. It was a retreat to something known, something he could control, or at least have the illusion of it, and that was so much easier than reaching for this, but that path was one drawn by fear, and Tony offered freedom, if Steve would only reach out and take it.

“A house by the sea,” Tony reminded him again, voice ringing with a plea as his fingers lightly stroked up and down the sides of Steve’s face. “What do you take that for, but a hope, a dream, the future we can build together? That is _you_. It always has been. I want to build it with you, fill it with us, with our family. That is the future I see. You. You and what we can make together, that is my hope, my dream. I look at you, and I am home. I am where I belong. I’ve never had that before, and I will not let it go, Steve. I can’t. So, if you need those things through me, then I will build them for you, until you see that they are much yours as they ever were mine. And if there is a fight that is worth fighting, I would be by your side to fight it.”

“I knew that was going to come up,” Steve sighed in exasperated acceptance, while Tony snorted out a huff of laughter against his chest, sending prickles of gooseflesh up and down his arms.

“Damn right, Rogers,” Tony said sternly. “I do not like waiting to hear of you,” he finished, voice gone tight. “I would stand with you against anything, you know that. If it is a fight that you need, then the Realm has plenty of them, gods know. There will always be another fight. Let it be our hopes, our dreams you choose to fight for, Steve. And let me be the person pulls you back from it when it must be done. ”

The same thread, Steve thought, the words echoing around in his head like a cry in a cave. Life and death. _Your path shall be my own_ …a pledge of faith, true, but what was that if not hope, a dream of the future? He had already given those words to Tony, but had held himself back, or parts of himself, and, Tony was right. It was pulling them apart, the thread going thin, fraying with a tension Steve had put there himself and still struggled against, but Tony would not allow it to snap. He would take something that would destroy a lesser man and make it something more, something strong. If Steve would let him.  

If Steve would let him, Tony would make it unbreakable.

“You are,” Steve told him, finding that it was easy to let the words slip from his lips now, how it had somehow shifted in his mind, the thing that was always waiting, from the next battle to Tony.   A man. By the river. With the moon in his hands, Steve recalled, the image flitting across his mind like the memory of a dream, a thin line between what was real and what was true. “You are, Tony.”

He heard Tony grunt in acceptance, but he didn’t relax against Steve, keeping his hold tight, as if he could keep the words in that way or keep other words from spilling out, Steve wasn’t sure which. At some point, Tony got up and padded naked over to the washbasin, returning with dampened towels that they used to clean themselves as best they could. Tony dropped them haphazardly on the floor when they were done, so Steve got up and placed them in a pile off to the side. His stomach decided to awaken enough to remind him that he had not yet eaten, so he grabbed the tray of food from the small table. He placed it on the bed, and passed the flagon of wine to Tony before taking a drink himself. They ate cold meat and warm cheese on soft breads, sliced pears drizzled with honey and squares of dark chocolate that Tony had eventually convinced Steve to at least try.

Tony wanted to call for more food, but Steve waylaid him, pointing out, he thought reasonably, that the servants were probably abed by now. Tony stared at him stupidly, then threw his hands up in the air and stalked around the room, muttering to himself about what the point of being King was, but he grabbed another hunk of the bread loaf and gnawed at it with obvious disdain while he shuffled and contorted himself on the bed, curving his body back into Steve’s.

Steve didn’t know how long they stayed that way, wrapped in each other, hovering between sleep and wakefulness. Floating, Steve thought, though the familiar unsettled feeling that usually accompanied the path to sleep did not surface this night. Tony, Steve thought, breathing deeply into the warmth of Tony’s skin. Tony is here, and he won’t let me go. He can’t. Life and death, a beginning that is an inevitable end and an end that cannot exist without a beginning. The same thread, viewed from different sides.

The same thread, Steve thought hazily as he drifted into slumber. The same thread. Forged in blood and ash and bound by something more, something strong.

 _Something unbreakable_.


	16. Coda for A Higher Form of War Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Part I. Please heed the warnings from that chapter.

 “So, I take the banner, walk it right up to the General, drop it at his feet.  I’m like, boom!  You looking for this?” Captain Rhodes said, flinging his free hand up with a flourish, then peered around him in consternation.  “Boom! Are you looking…why do I even talk to you guys?  Everywhere else, that story earns many a toast in my honor, let me tell you.”

“That is the entire story, then?” Thor asked, forehead crinkling in confusion before he caught Captain Rhodes’ look. “No, no, that is a most exhilarating tale!” Thor insisted quickly, grinning broadly.  “The capture of an enemy’s honored symbol.  The insult of placing it on the ground at his feet.  Yes, I can see how this would regale many a feast.  Very well done, Sir James!”

“The giant with the hammer is patronizing me,” Captain Rhodes observed mildly, tightening his grip on the reins again with a sigh.

“True, but, if it’s any consolation, he does that with all of us. I thought it was a most impressive story, don’t be sour with us, honey-bear,” Tony replied, lips quirking into a smile as he twisted around in his saddle.  “Did I tell you about the time I saved the entire city?  Well, mostly me.  I’m not saying others were not a help.  Eventually, I mean. When they were finished yelling at me for being there, so I’d say they get…let’s say twelve percent of the credit for saving the city.”

“No, no, I don’t think I’ve heard that one,” Rhodey said with a fond smile.  

“The city would have been overrun with Pierce’s troops before General May arrived with her cavalry were it not for Tony,” Steve heard himself say, then caught the teasing look leave Captain Rhodes face. They were joking, of course they were.  That was what soldiers did when thinking about the actual battle was enough to overwhelm.  They took the things that scared them and turned them into a jest.  He knew that.  He did.  But in his mind, Steve could see the bright flash of red and gold behind the line of Stark soldiers, and remembered the shock of disbelief and then the pit of dread that had welled up in his chest when he realized what he was seeing across the battlefield.  It hadn’t seemed real at the time, and yet, had been the most real thing he had ever seen.  He could almost feel it now, the terror mixed with a heady sort of hope, the way the battle had been pulled towards Tony, like he was some kind of beacon, and Steve supposed he was, at that. 

“Sorry,” Steve acknowledged, with a slight nod to Rhodes, who was watching him with an entirely too knowing expression. Steve risked a quick glance to Tony, who was swaying lightly in his saddle, a softly pleased expression fleeting across his face before he shuttered it.

 “Everyone loves that story,” Tony assured them, clearly deciding to just pretend Steve had not spoken, though Steve caught Tony’s gaze flick over to him again, concern deepening the lines around his eyes before he drifted back to Rhodes.  “Each time I tell it, the whole Court applauds and the Great Hall rings out with odes to my bravery and cunning.”

“I’m sure,” Rhodes said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Hey, look, if you didn’t want to hear the stories, you didn’t have to come along,” Tony chided lightly. “You could’ve stayed back at the Castle, all comfortable in your bed while your King rode off to a plague-infested town to find some guy who once tried to kill him.  I’m sure no one would judge you,” Tony assured him with a small smile that Steve wondered if everyone else could tell was strained.  The closer they got to Brookland, the more forced the joviality seemed to be, like Tony was trying to keep everything else at bay until the last possible moment, but cracks had started to form, and they could all feel it, each of them going a little rough at the edges as they grew nearer.

 “I told you after what happened last time that next time you were riding with me.  Did you think I jested?” Rhodes demanded, eyeing Tony, who just smiled a small, knowing smile and looked away.  Steve had heard the story of the Ten Rings’ attack on the carriages by now, of course, though he suspected Tony spared him some of the details in the retelling.  He wondered now if leaving it to his own mind to recreate was the lesser burden, and thought again about Tony’s tentative attempts to ask him about Brookland.  About other things.  Steve sighed and shifted again in his saddle, earning a sharp, worried glance from Tony, which he pretended not to notice.

 “If you want to hear a good story, ask His Grace there about the time he nearly blew himself up trying to escape right back into the arms of the Ten Rings.  That doesn’t get old,” Clint shouted from somewhere ahead of them.  Steve couldn’t see him in the thick of the forest, but that was the point, he supposed.  The winding path that followed the course of one of the larger tributaries from the River was largely overgrown from disuse now, making their travel all that much slower as they picked their way through the sometimes dense growth.

“A minor miscalculation on my part,” Tony admitted easily, nodding his head with an exaggerated frown before Steve felt the heat of Tony’s gaze fall on him. “I am fortunate that my captor was too stubborn to allow me to die so easily.”

“You are fortunate I could swim,” Steve pointed out, shooting Tony a rueful look before going back to focusing on their surroundings for want of focusing on other things he could do little about.

A part of him kept repeating how insane this was, jaunting off to a Brookland to find one man with the King in tow. He half expected Captain Rhodes to announce at any moment that this was too far from the city, too dangerous, too something, though it wasn’t as if Tony was obligated to listen to anyone.  Which is pretty much how that conversation had gone when Steve had haltingly broached the subject of Tony remaining at the Castle, Steve recalled. 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about the situation, even now, several days into their journey, except that it all had the air of inevitability about it. Tony was one of them, and even Steve had to admit that the sense of being off-balance dissipated once Tony joined them.  There was a steadying calmness that came with looking to his right and seeing Tony there, even while it filled him with no small amount of dread that he was putting Tony’s life in danger, no matter how much Tony insisted it was his own choice. 

Of course, Steve thought wryly, traveling with the King wasn’t without its benefits. Over the trilling of birds and rush of wind through the trees, he could easily hear the shuffling clamor of the battalion that trailed them, keeping a respectful distance behind their smaller group.  A concession he and Captain Rhodes had presented a united front to secure, but a welcome one. In all honesty, he thought Tony had capitulated far too quickly to not have already decided that the extra protection was warranted.  It was Rhodes who commanded the soldiers for this journey, often riding between the Avengers on point and the battalion behind, leaving Steve free, and he was certain that much, at least, was Tony’s doing.

“Well, I am fortunate in many ways, let us agree,” Tony chided lightly, drawing Steve’s gaze to his and holding it there until Steve felt himself start to warm for reasons other than the heat of the day and had to look away.

When Steve tried to call his mind to look back over the past month, it all had the soft-edged quality of a dream, unreality tugging at the corners until it seemed it would all fall apart if he tried to force it into focus. That first night, after he fell asleep with Tony by his side, he had woken up in his bed gasping for air, arms flailing out to grab onto something, anything, because he was sinking, sinking down into the too-soft bed, being swallowed by it.  He had disentangled himself from Tony’s embrace and curled on the floor between the bed and the door, moving his shield and sword to their usual places within reach and finally slept again, only to wake to the soft, dappled light of morning filtering into the room and the warm press of Tony’s body curved against his back.  He had been horrified, and tried to coax Tony back into bed, but Tony had just threaded his arms under Steve’s, wrapping one hand in Steve’s and laying it over Steve’s chest, before telling Steve to go back to sleep and promising to take care of it, though Steve had not known what that meant at the time. 

Two days later, Tony’s bed had been completely redone with a new mattress that had a smoothly finished oaken plank covered by a soft top of cotton and down on one side of it. No recriminations, no mention of it, really, just Tony figuring out a way to make work, because that was what he could do, and not letting Steve go was a promise Steve knew Tony intended to keep in all the ways that mattered. 

That apparently also included showing up on the training field and insisting that he needed additional sparring lessons, though Steve had to admit that he had missed their training sessions. Tony had always been a surprisingly quick study, and Steve enjoyed the feeling that he was giving something back to Tony, meager though it might be. Steve knew what Tony was about, though. Nothing of Tony’s actions was random. He insinuated himself where he worried Steve would find himself adrift. On the other hand, Steve was also fairly certain that the whole company of soldiers under his command thought that sparring lessons with the King meant something else entirely, he thought with a heavy sigh, then felt a slight grin forming, because sometimes, well, they weren’t wrong. 

Amongst the other duties Steve had assumed, Tony set him to the task of drawing out a rendering of the sketches Tony had prepared for the new castle complex that would be built on the other side of the Realm, though Steve suspected this was almost solely to keep him from drawing other things. He had to admit, having a task to accomplish made it easier to sit at his easel than simply staring at a blank sheet of canvas and allowing what was in his mind to fill it until what was in his mind became thoughts of how the arches should soar inside the Great Hall and where the turrets should be placed for better defense.

There were countless other ways Tony tried to open his world to Steve and asked Steve to allow him in, as well. So much of this, so much of each other, was still new to both of them.  The demands of ruling and rebuilding that had kept Tony away during so many days after the battle with Pierce seemed to have lessened, or Tony simply made it so, Steve wasn’t sure.   He could tell it still wore on Tony, how much he had missed before the war, though Steve could hardly judge Tony for trusting the wrong people, all things considered.  Still, it was the common folk who suffered the most for the mistakes of powerful men, and Tony was all too aware of how much the Realm bled for his misplaced faith.  

It began as simply trying to get Tony to relieve himself of some of the burden of rule, getting him to talk about the issues he was dealing with, and Steve did love to watch Tony’s mind work a problem, like some great machine come to life. It started that way, or he thought it had.  Looking back, he wasn’t sure how much had been Tony’s well-intentioned manipulation and how much had been simple happenstance, but their evenings quickly became far more of an exchange than Steve had ever intended.  Tony could see so much, how it would all fit together, but in doing so, he sometimes missed the pieces themselves, and that was where Steve slowly found himself offering a few suggestions until their nightly dinner sessions were as much strategy and possibility as anything else. 

Sometimes, as he lay abed next to Tony, Steve wanted to shake his head in wonder at himself, a boy from Brookland who could barely read, advising the King, but Tony had always listened, even when he had not wanted to hear, and now, he seemed to soak up whatever Steve offered and wring out the best of it. That was what Tony could do with just about anything.  Find the something more, something stronger, Steve thought, watching his horse’s ears flick at the afternoon flies that buzzed around them.  Even in soldiers, he supposed.  He hoped.  Maybe he even dreamed it, sometimes, when he woke, reaching out to find Tony already there.

“It’s beautiful here,” Natasha said as she trotted her mount up to sidle along next to Steve’s.

“It is,” Steve agreed, nodding slightly. Here, the land was verdant and lush with the rains that always seemed to fall, carpeting the ground with thick, green grasses that tapered down to where the jagged cliffs met the sea.  Over the din of birds and buzz of noise from the battalion marching behind them, Steve could pick up the rush of water over stone as the long fingers of the River reached out to the sea.  “Didn’t expect to be back so soon.”  That much was true, and as they got closer, he was less and less sure he wanted to see it again, and more certain that he had to do so.    There really wasn’t any saving grace in not knowing, he thought dully.  If Bucky could return, then he could.  Or he should, and maybe those were the same thing, or had to be. 

From the time Tony brought it up, he had held his hesitation about this journey back only because he wasn’t sure if it was due to his own desire to avoid returning or if he was the only one not overreacting to Bucky’s delayed return. It wasn’t even truly delayed.  Bucky had said he would be there for the wedding, and that wasn’t for another month, the date looming in his head like it was lit with fire, though at least Tony and Ms. Potts seemed to have stopped asking him for input after his fortieth or so non-response.  He did remember to ask about the little chickens, so he figured Bucky owed him one, which was probably going to be a good thing when Steve showed up in the ruins of their home with half the Kingdom in tow. 

Steve had tried to explain that if anyone should go search for Bucky, it should be him alone, but Tony had been determined, latching onto the idea and refusing to leave it be. This, Steve knew, was important to Tony in ways that Steve could only begin to guess. Some kind of effort to show that he could be a part of the Avengers, a demonstration of how it could work, and maybe something a little like a pilgrimage, Steve thought.  For both of them.  Whatever it was, Tony would not be deterred by Steve’s entreaties to wait a little longer.   With the wedding fast approaching, Tony did have a point that waiting much longer presented a problem, but Steve still thought this whole thing premature.

“James is fine,” Natasha assured him, as if peering into his mind.   “He has his own path to follow, Steve.  It may not always be yours.  But, he’ll always find his way back.  You know that, right?”

Steve didn’t answer right away, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of them, where the wind swept across the grasses, making them undulate in rows of green. He remembered trying to tell Bucky that there had to be different words for the colors.  They were so different, it didn’t seem possible they could be described by a single word, but perhaps it was because they were so very different that only the thing that bound them in common would suffice.  Steve glanced over at Tony, who was deep in conversation with Captain Rhodes, but looked up long enough to catch Steve’s eye and offered a soft smile, which Steve found himself returning. 

“I know,” Steve finally replied. “I’m still not sure why we’re doing this.”

“Aren’t you?” Natasha questioned, voice low. He wanted to say no, but that wasn’t entirely true, and she would know it for a lie the instant it left his mouth.  She stared at him side-eyed when he didn’t answer, then clucked at her horse and kicked her heels into its side, urging it forward along Clint’s mount, which she pulled behind her.  Steve watched her wind her way ahead through the forest until she drew to a halt some ways ahead where Clint lowered himself from the limb of a tree overhead onto the back of his horse, which jumped and shied in objection until Clint managed to gain the saddle.  Once he did, the horse reared up, as if testing the new weight while Clint entreated it to whoa, rather ineffectually from what Steve could tell.   Steve shook his head a bit, feeling the corners of his mouth tug up as the scene played itself out.  Clint hated the horse, and Steve was confident the feeling was entirely mutual. 

“Ten gold coins says he hits the dirt before nightfall,” Tony offered. He maneuvered his horse next to Steve’s without so much as a pull on the reins, watching Clint try to control his mount.  Of them, Tony was easily the best rider, though Natasha was surprisingly good, and Thor sat the horse well, whether due to skill or the horse simply being intimidated, Steve wasn’t sure. 

“Sir Archer has a poor history with these noble steeds,” Thor agreed readily from behind them. “His touch seems to drive the beasts to frenzy.  I would not advise taking that bet, Captain.”

“Hey, they like my touch just fine!” Clint shouted, then frowned. “Wait—that’s not—okay, all of you can just shut the hell up,” Clint called out over the laughter.  “One time!  Once and you won’t let that go.”

“I believe it was you who made the mistake of not letting go, Sir Archer,” Thor recalled with a slight frown as if he was unsure of the memory.   “It is true that you were woefully unaware that the creature would bite if you touched it there, yet I cannot say I blame the animal for its reaction.”

“Seriously. One time.  Years ago.  And only because James, that bastard, said the thing wasn’t a real horse and couldn’t—couldn’t—you know,” Clint muttered, making a rude gesture with his hand.  “Which, let me assure you, it can.  It very much can, okay?  And we will just leave it at that.  I hate you all, by the way,” Clint gritted out, though he finally got the horse to stop circling and pick a direction, which unfortunately, happened to be back the way they came. 

“Is someone going to help him?” Bruce asked, turning in his saddle to watch Clint’s back as he galloped off.

“I always wondered where that story came from. I am not disappointed,” Tony said over a low chuckle. 

“In Clint’s defense, he was very, very drunk,” Steve commented, smiling at the memory. “Probably not quite as drunk as Bucky though.  When Bruce found them, they were both sitting in a puddle of mud and donkey piss, laughing like loons. There was a chunk of skin missing from Clint’s shoulder—he still has the scar.  Bucky insisted it was a love bite and kept telling Clint he had a better chance with the donkey than Phil.”  Tony was bent low over his saddle, laughing into Audi’s neck while the horse walked placidly along, picking its way over the path.

“I thought the creature far more discerning than you credit it,” Thor remarked lightly.

“Nah, Phil’s not that picky,” Natasha interjected as she joined them, causing Thor’s brow to furrow, though Steve often wondered how much truly passed under Thor’s notice, however different his own upbringing must have been. “Don’t worry. Clint’ll catch up.”

“We should stop soon, anyway,” Tony offered. “The sun starts to set.”  That wasn’t quite true, Steve noted, glancing up at the sky where the sun still shone bright and high between the branches, dappling the leaves and grasses with dots of light.  It wasn’t the first time Tony had called an early halt to their course, and Steve was not blind to why.  Subtlety had never been Tony’s strength. 

“I am fine,” Steve insisted, though his back twinged in protest.

“I did not say you weren’t,” Tony countered, almost carefully, though the way his gaze rested on Steve so gently Steve could almost feel it sweep across him belied the words. “I grow tired.  And hungry.  We have traveled nearly half the breadth of the Realm this past week, after all.  Really, this is all about me.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve nodded, eyes narrowing at Tony, but he didn’t object. There was no point, partly because Tony was right and the days of riding had become progressively more difficult for him, and partly because if the King said he wanted to stop, then everyone was going to stop whatever protestations Steve may have made.  This place was as good as any, with a copse of trees offering some shelter and a small stream barely gurgling over the grass and downed limbs in which to water the horses and refill their waterbags.  Captain Rhodes nodded once to Tony, then turned his horse to give the new orders to the men following them.  “See if you can get Barton pointed in the right direction,” Steve shouted without looking back. 

They slowed their mounts and everyone dismounted. Steve swung his leg over the saddle and to the ground, sucking in a deep breath as he dipped his head, one hand still clinging to the saddle as his muscles adjusted to the new position.  A shadow blocked out the sun, and he turned to find Tony next to him.

“Here,” Tony urged, holding out a small vial. “I know—“ Tony started when Steve started shaking his head.  “Just a little.  Take the edge off.  Please.”  Steve grimaced, but when he tried to step away from the horse, his back seized and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as the sharp pain sliced across it.  He felt Tony grip his upper arm and leaned into it without really thinking about it.  He heard Tony sigh, ragged and rough against the curve of his neck.  “You should have said something.  We are in no hurry.”

“Bucky—“ Steve began, but his voice sounded tight and wrong even to his own ears.

“Will be there when we arrive, as you keep telling me,” Tony assured him, voice low against Steve’s ear, warm breath tingling on his cheek. “He would not want you to be in pain to earn a few extra hours.”  Steve stared down at the small vial in Tony’s palm for a moment, then took it and dug out the cork, downing the bitter mixture before he thought better of it.  He hated it.  The weakness it signified.  But, he couldn’t deny it, wouldn’t, at least not to Tony. “Good,” Tony said, studying him intently.  “Now, sit.  Rest.”

Steve ignored him and started unstrapping his bedroll from behind the saddle, while the horse pawed at the ground with its front hooves. He ran a soothing hand up and down the horse’s neck, patting it gently, then went back to undoing his pack where it was attached to the saddle on top of his bedroll.

“Stubborn,” Tony said with a slight shake of his head, but he reached up to help undo the straps that were hard to grasp for some reason under Steve’s fingers. Around the horse’s flank, he could see Bruce already working on a small fire. Thor had a handful of dry wood to add the pile of crinkled leaves Bruce had scraped together, and Natasha was deftly slicing open the bindings on the wrapped foodstuffs the palace kitchens had sent with them, carefully ignoring him and Tony.

Steve let out a puff of air, then took his pack and bedroll in one hand and strode to a place by the fire thick with grass and dropped them there while Tony saw to the horses. He unbuckled his sword and unslung the shield from his back, setting both down next to his pack before he spread out the thick blanket and sat down on top of it.  Tony grunted as he sank down next to him, immediately laying down and pillowing his hands behind his head. 

“What’s for dinner?” Tony asked, blinking up at the light streaming through the trees. Steve reached into his pack and dug out a small bag, then handed Tony one of its contents.  “That’s not funny,” Tony said as he stared in horrified distaste at the familiar hard biscuit that had been one of the constant sources of sustenance during their travels.  Steve laughed lowly, shoulders shaking as he glanced over at Tony with a smile.  “I think I banned these.  Didn’t I ban these?  These should be banned.  I hereby ban these!” Tony shouted to the forest.  In the distance, a mockingbird agreed with him.  “This is not real food.  I told you.  These are rocks, disguised as food.  Not even well disguised, at that.”

“I like them,” Steve announced, plucking it out of Tony’s hand and biting into it. He didn’t, not really, but wasn’t about to concede the point to Tony. 

“No, you don’t, you’re just the rock-eating kind of stubborn,” Tony objected, grabbing it from Steve’s fingers and flinging it into the trees where it bounced against something with a hard thunk. “Great.  I think I killed Clint.  Happy now?”

“Yes,” Steve said, smiling widely as he lay down next to Tony.

“Well, I drugged you, so that could be one source of it, anyway. Bruce, he needs some food in him!” Tony called out. 

“You couldn’t have waited until after dinner?” Bruce asked, forehead crinkling in a frown as he blew gently on the small flame and stacked some of the rocks Thor provided in a ring around the fire.

“No,” Tony replied with a shrug. Natasha walked over and dropped a bag on the blanket between Steve and Tony, then set about unrolling her own blanket on the opposite side of the fire while Tony murmured his thanks. 

“That is not the only reason,” Steve said, nudging Tony’s hand with the tips of his fingers. It was strange, perhaps, to be happy out here, heading towards something he wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit, but he was.  He had been, for awhile now, he let himself admit.  It had been almost too gradual to notice, the way the waves hollow out the hills so slowly one lifetime can barely witness it.  He didn’t know why it was so hard to acknowledge it, to allow himself to have it, except that seeing Tony happy made it easier somehow.  He smiled widely up at Tony, the dissipating pain making him feel almost euphoric.  Well, that and probably whatever it was Bruce had mixed up for him.

Tony caught Steve’s expression and barked out a laugh. He  lifted Steve’s hand and brushed his lips across the knuckles, then ran a hand through Steve’s hair and went back to digging through the bag, pulling out a loaf of hard bread wrapped in a course cloth, strips of dried meat and two apples. “Eat,” Tony urged, handing a strip of the salty meat to Steve.  “Or we’ll end up giving them something to truly try to ignore,” Tony said, rolling over and planting a kiss on top of Steve’s head. 

“Please. Some of us are trying to eat, here.  It was bad enough before, the two of you, gods,” Bruce quipped with a shake of his head.  He poked at the fire with a stick, sending embers into the air like bright dandelion seeds. 

Steve dutifully bit into the meat, then reached for the waterbag, taking a long drink. Down the path, he could see Captain Rhodes returning from relaying the new orders to the battalion commanders, Clint’s horse trotting docilely behind him.  Clint himself walked some distance behind, eventually stalking into camp and dropping his pack next to the fire and gazing balefully at where Rhodes hobbled his horse next to the others in the soft grass by the stream. 

“Casting aspersions on the character of your King is a capital offense. Probably,” Tony amended, canting his head to the side and gnawing on the bread.  “Besides, I spent a great deal of my unfortunate captivity talking to you, Brucie-bear. 

“Oh, right. Right, because you were so interested in my discussions about the medicinal properties of plants and were definitely not spending your time watching Steve and thinking what I’m sure were completely pure thoughts about the good of the Realm,” Bruce retorted with a smirk.

“Your plant talks were most engrossing,” Tony said, arching an eyebrow.

“You walked into a tree,” Bruce reminded him, swiping away a laugh with the back of his hand.

“A tree is just a large plant,” Tony pointed out. Steve hunched over his food, shoulders shaking with mirth. 

“He’s not wrong,” Steve said evenly and was rewarded with a bright, fond grin from Tony. 

“What? Do you even…you know what, never you mind.  Steve, he’s all yours,” Bruce announced, curling his legs under him on his blanket and pulling out his own bag of foodstuffs. 

“And, pray tell, what were you talking to Barnes about all that time anyway?” Tony demanded, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s.

“I was probably explaining to him that we were not under any kind of threat from the guy who walks into trees,” Steve sniggered. Tony’s surprised snort of laughter joined Captain Rhodes’, who was waving a hand in front of his face, trying to catch his breath.

“I still can’t believe this is the team that managed to cause me so many problems,” Rhodes stuttered around hitches of laughter. “I am deeply ashamed, Your Grace.”

“Yes, it takes us awhile to get any traction, I’ll grant you that,” Tony replied. Steve didn’t miss that Tony included himself, and neither did Rhodes, he noted. Steve took another long swallow from the waterbag and lay back down on the blanket.  A soft golden light suffused the forest as the sun dipped low, blazing into the sea beyond.  Tony’s fingers began threading through his hair as the team continued to trade stories.  Steve listened through a distant sort of haze that he recognized was courtesy of Bruce’s potion, but the aches and soreness of the ride were fading and he ground was still warm from the sun, heating his back and loosening the muscles.

“How fares the fair Jane?” Tony asked Thor.

“Her work charting the skies keeps her quite busy. There is even some talk of her joining your university. I am told this is considered quite an achievement for a woman in your Realm, Your Grace, though why that should be so, I cannot say, for Jane is as gifted in mind as she is in beauty,” Thor replied, tipping back his waterbag. 

“Well, yes, I agree, the Realm has some steps to take to modernize the education system, but, you know, Pepper—Ms. Potts—runs the entire Castle, and sits on the Council, which is pretty exciting,” Tony added.

“Yes, that is, indeed,” Thor agreed, nodding firmly. “But Jane is better.”

“Oh, gods, you—“ Natasha started, clearing her throat in an exaggerated manner.

“Are you alright?” Captain Rhodes inquired.

“The air here grows thick,” Natasha said mildly, rising gracefully to her feet. “Excuse me,” she coughed.  “I think I’ll take first watch.”

“I’ll join you,” Rhodes offered, standing up to follow her.

Steve looked over to watch Tony’s mouth open, then close as he watched Natasha and Rhodes depart, catching his eye and turning his face into the palm of Tony’s hand as it stroked through his hair. Dimly, he heard the others talking, the occasional spurt of laughter punctuating the conversation, but it was muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater, he thought, a fissure of unease snaking through him.  He opened his eyes, not quite sure when he had closed them, and felt the weight of Tony’s gaze on him, which seemed right, comforting and familiar, so he let his eyes fall closed again, the murmur of voices lulling him, drowning out the other thoughts that would fill his mind until there was nothing.

Steve woke with a start, heart pounding, muscles tensed in mid-arc as he sat up, wincing against a starburst of pain that followed the motion. His head clogged with disorientation as he looked around, the last vestiges of the dream slipping away as he came to wakefulness.  A house, he recalled.  The memory of it was fading, but it was a familiar enough dream that his mind could fill in the rest.  A woman in a window, waving and coughing, her mouth covered with a blood-stained rag.  Sometimes it was a man.  Sometimes he was screaming.  He wasn’t sure which one this had been. When he tried to dredge up the image, he could only grasp the tendrils of it, but it left him shaken, breath coming in heaving pants.  He looked around, realization settling in.  The camp was still and quiet, a bright crescent moon smiling overhead.  Tony was next to him, breathing evenly and deep, the blanket they shared bunched around one leg. 

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, then rubbed the heel of it against his forehead.   He could feel his chest tightening, straining with the need to cough.  He had to fight the urge to suck in great gulps of air.  Instead, he tried to breathe in through his nose in short, shallow breaths, counting out carefully as he had been taught, until the panicked feeling left him and he was able to do more than wheeze.  He finally reached for the waterbag and took a few quick sips.  It was nearly empty, which gave him as good a reason as any to get up.  It was quiet, but not silent.  He could hear the sounds of their horses and the larger group that camped behind them, distant glows from their fires seeming to float in the dark of the forest. 

Natasha and Captain Rhodes had returned at some point during the night, he noted, and Clint’s bedding was empty now. Thor was snoring lightly, and Bruce was buried under his blanket, only the top of his head visible.  Steve looked around, but couldn’t see past the first row of trees before the night swallowed the waning light of the fire.  It seemed a silly thing, now, a bad dream and nothing more, but he couldn’t quite shake the disquieted feeling.  Giving up on sleep for the moment, he pushed himself up, wincing as his back protested the action, though it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, all things considered.  Between stopping early and Bruce’s concoction, he felt better than he had the past few mornings. 

He made his way out of the circle of camp where the small fire’s smoke curled lazily above it. One of the horses, Audi, he thought, flicked his ears at him as he passed, huffing out a warm breath that hung on the cold night air.  He squatted down next to the stream and splashed cold water onto his face, then lay the waterbag into the flow, letting it fill and stretch the skin of the bag.  Steve glanced back at the camp again, but no one stirred, so he stood and stepped through the stream to the other side, not quite sure where he was going, but not ready to return just yet.  He finally came to a halt by a large, thick-trunked oak, with limbs that sprawled and curved low with their own weight then reached up again as they thinned.  He leaned back against the rough bark, feeling the ridges that laced up and down the trunk press between his shoulders.  He let his eyes fall shut, then snapped them open when he heard the crunch of undergrowth behind him.  He squinted into the darkness, finally catching movement from the direction he had come.

“It isn’t that I don’t enjoy these lovely little nighttime strolls of yours,” Tony called out, sounding anything but pleased to be picking his way through the forest in the dead of night.

“Sorry,” Steve replied. “I just—“ he began, then stopped, because he wasn’t sure what he was doing out here, not really.  “I woke up,” he finally settled on, since it was true enough.  Tony stomped over to where he stood by the tree, hands on his hips as he looked around, before finally letting his gaze fall on Steve.  “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“How is that going?” Tony asked, eyebrows raised in question.

“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Steve admitted with a chagrined half-smile. He dropped his gaze from Tony’s questioning one, shifting slightly on his feet before pulling his eyes back to Tony’s.  In the dim moonlight, he could just see the whites and the crescent of light reflected there, but he knew they were full of questions.  “I had a dream. Just—just something that I’ve dreamt before.  Nothing---it was nothing.  Nothing to bother you with.”

“But you could not return to sleep,” Tony observed carefully, without imbuing it with any judgment. “That damn stuff of Bruce’s, and being out here, so near Brookland, it is little wonder your sleep is disturbed.   I should not have—perhaps this was not a good idea.  Coming here.  I thought…I don’t know what I thought,” Tony broke off, rubbing a hand over his mouth.  “I thought that—that I could give you---that this would be better.  That it might help.  Now you’re—you’re in pain and having nightmares,” Tony stammered.  “I shouldn’t have done this.  This was a mistake.  This was me, trying to—I don’t know what I was trying to do.”

“No—Tony, no. It’s not—it’s not just this place.  That’s part of it, yes, but…it’s a lot more than a place.  I’ve had them before, leagues from here,” Steve confessed. 

“I have them, too. The dreams,” Tony said after a pause.  His face scrunched up around the words, as if he didn’t care for how they tasted in his mouth.  “The water.  They used a bucket, pushed my head in it just long enough for it to feel like I was going to explode if I didn’t get air, and I’d open my mouth and swallow just enough water to feel like I was drowning.”

“Tony—“ Steve breathed out, fingers clenching around a hilt that wasn’t there. In his mind, he could see Raza bleeding out, the dark stain seeping into the sand until it was almost black with it. 

“Sometimes, I open my eyes and instead of the bottom of a bucket, I see you there, floating, and you’re calling out to me, and I can’t get to you. Someone has my arms, and I can’t get to you, but I promised, see?  I promised not to let you go, and so I have to—I have to—but I can’t breathe, I can’t move---and then I wake up,” Tony whispered, eyes shining.  “Then I wake up, and you are there, and I can breathe again and when I swallow, it doesn’t feel like water filling my throat.  Do you think me weak?  Do you judge me the lesser for this?”

“Of course not,” Steve insisted. “How could you even think that I—“

“We are both of us broken things, Steve. Both of us.  You said I take what would make me weak and turn it into a strength.  I do that by looking to you.  You are my rudder.  I would be that for you, if you would allow it,” Tony offered, almost hesitantly.  “Poor one though I may be.  But you must choose to turn to me instead of trying to find your way on your own.  This thing that you carry with you?  I would help you bear it.  You don’t have to do this by yourself, Steve.  I would follow you on this path, same as any other, but you must choose to let me.  I cannot make you,” Tony finished, lifting a hand to cradle the curve of Steve’s jaw.  “But I will not let you go.  No matter what.  Even if you need to turn away from me.  I will be here when you do not.”

“I—I want—I am trying,” Steve said. “I am.”

“I know,” Tony replied, stepping closer and winding his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve let go of the tree to pull Tony into his arms, only then realizing he had ground his fingers so deeply into the wood, he could feel the splinters digging under his nails.  “I know you are.”

“I would not have come on this mission if I didn’t want to,” Steve said, somewhat surprised to hear the truth in his own words. “Bucky—he can handle himself, and he would return in his own time.  He wouldn’t miss the wedding.  But, I—I need to go back.  I know that.  I would not want to do so without you, though.  I don’t even know if I could.”

“You could. You are stronger than you think,” Tony told him.  “Which makes it mean all the more that you did not.”  Steve leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Tony’s head.  Tony sighed, then tilted his head up, brushing his lips across Steve’s with just the barest touch.  It was all the invitation Steve needed to deepen the kiss, nipping lightly at Tony’s bottom lip until Tony opened underneath his mouth.  Steve swiped his tongue inside, sliding it against Tony’s.  He caught Tony’s low moan against his mouth, feeling Tony press his body closer.  Steve gripped the curls at the back of Tony’s head, leaning into Tony’s heat.  He could hear his own heart echoing through his ears and felt his body start to tighten in response. 

Tony slid his hands under Steve’s shirt and up his back, the muscles jumping and quivering under his touch. Steve couldn’t quite find the right words for what it felt like for Tony to touch him there, when they were like this, as if that part of him was something sensual, too.  Something Tony wanted, even if it was—even if it was broken.  Steve groaned as he felt Tony’s hands dig into the mottled flesh there, and Tony took the opportunity to thrust his tongue deep into Steve’s mouth, the combination of sensations enough to make Steve’s hips judder against Tony seemingly of their own volition. 

“We—we can’t,” Steve panted, breaking off the kiss.

“Pocket. I have some—“ Tony started, mouth seeking Steve’s again even as he spoke.

“No, no,” Steve insisted, placing a hand between them. “We can’t.”

“Why the hell not?” Tony demanded.

“Clint!” Steve yelled as loudly as he dared without raising the whole camp to alarm.

“My eyes!” Clint shouted in return from wherever he was holed up, keeping watch. “They burn!”

“See? We really can’t,” Steve said with a twisted grimace, caught between laughter and desperation, his body still thrumming with desire.  He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and thumped it there a few times, until Tony grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him close for a long, searing kiss that promised more, before pulling back abruptly.

Tony sighed in obvious frustration and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in even more disarray than Steve’s grip on it had. He was nodding to himself, hands on his hips, like he was having an internal debate. When he finally looked at Steve, there was a small smile playing on his lips, and Steve half expected him to tell Clint to go tend the horses or some such, but Tony just picked up Steve’s hand and tugged.  “Come.  Let’s return to camp and see if we can’t get a bit more sleep before Rhodey has us up at some ridiculous hour,” Tony muttered.

They made it back to their shared bedroll, and Tony shifted Steve’s head onto his chest, just below the metal disc, running his hands through Steve’s hair in a rhythmic motion. Steve surprised himself by promptly falling back to sleep, only waking when Bruce put his pot to boil over the fire.  There wasn’t much ground to cover before they reached Brookland, so they could afford a few extra moments this morning, though Steve woke to a kind of anxious need to hurry, if only to get it over with that much sooner, and he wasn’t the only one who seemed to feel that way.

By the time they mounted their horses, a heavy silence had fallen over the group. It followed them as their horses picked their way through the expanse of forest that thinned as they went.  We are a processional, Steve thought, looking over the solemn group, a homecoming and a farewell.  They came for him, for Bucky, and for their own reasons, but they came, each of them, and brought grief to a land that had not been truly mourned until now. 

It was almost like going through a practiced series of motions, he thought, everyone slipping into the role of pall-bearer for something both long-buried and eternal. We have all known loss, Steve thought, eyes falling on each of them as they rode.  Family, friends, fellow soldiers.  Each of them understood what it was like to face it, to be the one who lived, the one who has to carry it, and the one who has to choose to put it down.  Sorrow was the only burden easier to bear than to let go.

By lunch, their course had met with one of the larger tributaries, and Steve almost startled at the familiarity of everything. It shouldn’t be a surprise that so much was the same.  It had been years, but in nature’s time, that was little to nothing.  He had watched Bucky and other boys try to spear frogs from the shallows just down the way a bit.  He knew where a large log spanned a smaller neck of the river, reeds clinging to it and swaying with the rush of the current like the long hair of a water wraith.  They had dared each other to cross the slippery surface without falling in while the water circled their ankles. 

It was almost too much, these memories coming all at once. He wondered what it had been like for Bucky to return, to see it like this, beautiful and green and the way it was supposed to be instead of the way he remembered it when he let himself think of it at all.  It was almost a betrayal that it could still be this way after everything that happened here, like the land itself should bear the scars, but, of course, it didn’t.  The fire had largely been contained to the town, and fire was nothing if not a renewal as far as nature was concerned.  It takes something that should destroy it and makes something more, something stronger, Steve thought, looking over at Tony. 

The trees grew sparse and the land flattened into sandy earth as they slowly made their way parallel to the river. Steve could smell the change in the air, feel the salty breeze on his skin, long before he heard the sound of it, the pounding curl of the waves licking across the shore.  It jolted him, and he pulled up on the reins of his horse without really meaning to.  He looked over at Tony, unsure what to say.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way in,” Tony said. “Give us some time, then follow.  Rhodey, have the men camp here.  Here, and no further, until you have my leave,” Tony ordered. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Rhodes said quietly, pulling his horse around. The rest of the team dismounted in silence.  Steve handed his reins to Natasha, while Tony gave his to Clint, who just rolled his eyes, but a small, sad smile flashed across his face as he wound the cords around his hand.  His sword and shield he gave over to Thor, who’s large hand thumped down on Steve’s shoulder, clapping it twice before he released Steve with a slight shake. 

“Gods go with thee, my friend,” Thor said, stepping back. Steve looked down at his feet, willing them to move, then watched a second shadow join his. 

“Together,” Tony said, threading his fingers through Steve’s. At first, they didn’t talk as they walked along the edge of the river, but soon enough, Steve found himself pointing out things to Tony that he remembered.  It wasn’t until they came to the first fence post that he quiet.  The waist-high stack of stones stood like a cairn, the fencepost itself long lost to fire and rot.  It was the Reilly’s farm, or it had been.  They’d had a bull, a mean cuss of a thing, who was trained to chase children who cut across the field and gore them, if it could, or so the children claimed, though Steve only ever saw the bull interested in chewing on the lush pasture and trying to figure out a way to get to the McDullough’s cows. 

The Reilly’s had also had four children, and an ancient-looking shepherd that barked at butterflies and wagged its tail at everything else. Now, they had a few fence posts and a mound of what had once been a home, the ground sprinkled with darker earth and dirt so light it was nearly white the only marker of where it had once been.  Most of the homes had been wood and hard-packed dirt, thatched roofs and little else.  Things that burned, Steve thought dully.  There had been little worry of that, after all, out here by the sea, nestled amongst the rivers and streams.  Long rows of homes had once stood so close together one could lean out the window and reach out to take something passed from a neighbor.  Now, there were piles of rubble and ash, and if he stretched out his arms, he thought he could reach between them.

“Steve,” Tony said as they passed by the discolored dirt. “Are you sure you want to do this?  We can go back.  Rhodey can find Barnes.  Or put Natasha on it, and she’ll probably have him skipping into camp in no time.”

“No. No, I want to.  It’s…I don’t know if good is the right word, but it feels right.  To be here again,” Steve heard himself say.  “Are you—“ he started, then cleared his throat, not sure how he wanted to ask the question.

“Am I alright?” Tony said for him. He stopped and looked down the blank canvas of land before him where the sea rolled grey and white between the steeples of the cliffs.  In the distance, Steve could see the seabirds darting up and down on the breeze, searching for fish, the same as ever, though he suspected they missed the ease of dining on the catch brought in by the fishermen.  “I am…no.  No, but I don’t think I should be.  Do you?  I don’t think anyone should be.   I won’t—I won’t allow this to be my legacy, but I owe it to you, to Barnes, to the people who died here, to at least bear witness to it.  It should be hard.  It—I need it to be hard, so that when it’s done, I can do something with it.”

“You will,” Steve replied, sure of that if little else.

“We will,” Tony corrected. “I don’t know how to…how to think of this place,” Tony gritted out, looking down and away from where Steve stood next to him. “What was done here, in my name.  It is almost too horrible to comprehend, yet it brought you to me, and I cannot reconcile those things, except to say that both are true.  Life and death.  If those things have a home, this is it.  An end and a beginning.   At least, I hope that is what it will be.  That is all I have to offer, pitiable recompense though it may be.”

“This wasn’t you, Tony,” Steve objected, turning and clutching at each of Tony’s shoulders with a hand. “Look at me,” he demanded with more vehemence than he’d felt, well, in longer than it probably should have been.  “This wasn’t you.  This—this place, what was done here, this was never your life.  This was Stane and Pierce and the rest of them.”

“Don’t absolve my part in this, Steve. Not here.  This was never my life, but I am not so much a coward that I won’t lay claim to setting up a system that allowed them to go unchecked.   There is no atonement for this, no penance I can do to make it right.  I can’t fix this, but I’ll be damned if I will stand here and fail to acknowledge my part in it,” Tony ground out.  “I was their King.  These were my people.  These were their homes, their lives, their families.  They deserve at least that from me.”

Tony started walking forward, quick, determined steps that left Steve little choice but to follow. The land sloped downward just enough that he could feel the pull of it.  The crumbled remains of the village began to rise up in front of them, like they grew from the land itself.  Mounds of charred dirt, bits of wood and the stones that some had used around doorways and windows left in hulking piles, blown dry by the salty sea air. 

The frame of what had been the O’Malley’s barn looked skeletal against the green grass that had grown inside it, and for a fleeting moment, the smell of hay, almost sickly sweet, filled his nostrils. Mice had lived in the hay, and the O’Malley’s kept a great orange tom cat who liked to leave his catches on their doorstep, Steve remembered, the image of Mrs. O’Malley dancing over the offerings as she stepped out her door, much to the delight of he and Bucky, though Mrs. O’Malley, he recalled, had always praised the old cat for his prowess while the Tom arched his back and rubbed his way through her legs. Mrs. O’Malley had died from the plague, but there was a fat ginger cat lounging on the hard, warm dirt in front of the barn, younger than the old Tom, but Steve thought Mrs. O’Malley would be pleased.  Perhaps he and Bucky had not been the only things to make it out that day.  The wind pricked at his eyes, making them water, or something did.  It was a strange thing to be pleased about, amidst all of this destruction, but it was something.

Only the Sept still stood with any kind of true shape, its stone walls blackened, but still standing, though the roof had caved in and the doors, made of driftwood woven together so tightly that no light peeked through them, which had fascinated Steve as a boy, were gone. The bone-dry wood would have made good tinder, after all.

“This was ours,” Steve said as they came to the small pile that had once been his home. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the curtains his mother had sewn billowing with the breeze off the water.  She had dyed them a dark blue, and Steve had told her it was the same color as her eyes.  He remembered her smile at that, how she had rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head, and how glad he had been to make her happy.  One of the few things his sickly body had allowed him to do, trapped there in the home that was his world, he could find the beauty in anything, and her most of all.  

“And that was Bucky’s,” he said, pointing to the nearby hunks of ashen dirt and debris. “Mom used to hate it when we’d yell back and forth,” Steve remembered.  “Said we should have a proper, civilized conversation instead of acting like a couple a’pirates, but she knew we loved hearing that.  Made us want to do it more.  I think she thought it was good for my lungs or something.  Or maybe she was just glad I had someone.  Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”

“You still do,” Tony said, nodding his head towards the Sept. Steve turned around, squinting for a moment in the glare of the sun, then caught sight of movement in the distance, a man coming out of the Sept carrying a load of debris in his arms.  Steve raised a hand in greeting, watching the figure stop what he was doing, set down what he was carrying, then start their direction. 

“Figured you to not listen to me a lot sooner,” Bucky said as he approached. He was covered in dirt, clothes sticking to him with dark circles of sweat.  He wiped his hands up and down his pants in an effort to clean them that seemed entirely wasted.  “Your Grace,” Bucky said in greeting, though Steve could see the slight smirk dance across his features as he said it.

“Lord Barnes,” Tony said formally, with a slight nod.

“Steve—“ Bucky started, then let out a startled oomph as Steve barreled into him, wrapping his arms around his friend and hugging him close. Steve squelched his eyes shut, aware of Tony watching them, but couldn’t quite keep the choked off sob inside.  “Ah, Stevie,” Bucky said, patting his hands against Steve’s back. 

“I never should have let you come by yourself,” Steve said against his friend’s ear.

“I needed to. I needed this, Steve.  Just me an’them.  Just for a bit,” Bucky said, voice thick, nearly shaking with the effort not to let more out than he wanted to.  “And you needed to come with him, Steve.  You and Tony.  You needed to come together.”  As always seemed to be the case, Bucky knew him better than he knew himself, Steve thought, clutching at his friend’s back.  He hadn’t realized how much he had missed Bucky’s steady presence until now.  They stayed like that a beat longer, then Steve heard Tony shuffle a bit behind them.  He turned, releasing Bucky, though he couldn’t quite pull away just yet, keeping both hands on Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Where is it?” he heard Tony ask in a tight tone, clipped with strain.

“There,” Bucky said, jerking his head towards a low ridge that ran behind the O’Malley’s barn. Steve saw Tony bob his head a few times, stance going rigid for a moment as his hands balled into fists.  Bucky’s face had gone flat, mouth a thin line as he watched Tony walk past them, weaving his way through what was left of the village and up towards the barn. 

“What—“ Steve began to ask, then it hit him, all at once, low in the gut like a physical blow. “Oh,” he breathed out.  That was where they were buried, in the soft earth in what had once been a pasture for grazing and was now ground consecrated with a loss almost too great to comprehend.  They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, and watched Tony walk past the barn, and up to where the earth formed a low, sloping ridge.  Tony stopped and stood still for a long moment, then knelt down and even at this distance, Steve could see him bow his head.  Steve started forward, only to have Bucky dart out a hand and wind it in his tunic, hauling him to a stop.

“Give him a moment,” Bucky said sharply. Steve wasn’t sure how long he watched his King kneel there, each beat harder and harder to bear, and yet Tony’s grief was somehow a balm to his own.  It was all of theirs now, something real and visceral that Tony shared with him and Bucky now, and that mattered in a way Steve couldn’t quite explain. _To love all that you love_ , Steve thought.  Was there any higher expression of this than to mourn for a loss that wasn’t your own?  When Bucky released him, Steve walked slowly towards where Tony knelt, stopping just short of him.  The wind off the sea was whipping across the field, stirring the tall grass, spots of the bright yellow weeds that they had picked as gifts for parents when they were children bursting through the waves of green.

“Tony,” Steve called out softly, letting one hand fall on Tony’s shoulder.

“I am sorry I failed them,” Tony whispered, voice bleak and hollowed with remorse. His cheeks were stained with trails of tears through the dust from their journey, and Steve watched as he blinked rapidly, then wiped a hand across his eyes.  Steve wanted to object to Tony’s words, to tell him again it wasn’t his fault, but there was a greater truth in them that he couldn’t deny any more than Tony would have him do so.   These were Tony’s people, in a way Steve was only beginning to understand, and trying to take their deaths from him took their lives from him, as well.  The same thread, Steve thought.  It was true that Tony bore some claim to what those he trusted had done in his name, but this place, the joys Steve had known here, the lives they had lived, those were Tony’s as well, and he would not trade that to be free of whatever responsibility he took for their fate.  You can’t have one without the other, was that not what Tony kept trying to tell him?

“I was supposed to shelter them, and I failed them,” Tony choked out. “I failed them.”  Steve sank to his knees by Tony in the damp earth, letting his hand drop from Tony’s shoulder.  Before him, the ground curved down in a shallow cradle of dirt.  The soldiers had not bothered to bury them very deeply, seeing no need to hide their crime, not out here where no one was likely to risk visiting.  He could see the whites of what he knew were not rocks poking out of the dirt, as if determined to be seen, though he could not bring himself to look closely.  Bone does not burn so well, he thought, but was oddly glad for it, that something remained of them. 

“I failed them, as well. Maybe we all did,” Steve said, finally finding his voice.  “I should have given you a chance to answer this.  I took that away from you and used it for my own ends.  For that, I am more sorry than I can say.”  He owed Tony that, and he owed it to those whom he had used to excuse the choices he had made.  There were a lot of things he wished he could have done differently, but of all of them, it was choosing to fight in their names that was probably the worst of it.  He had helped split the Realm apart because it had been easier to fight against a foe he could hate from afar than to seek justice and risk being given it.  He had needed the fight as much as Bucky had, though for his own reasons.  The world can end with a whimper, in an echo of each man’s choice to put his own needs above those of others.  He’d been trying to win a war that didn’t need to start, and innocent people had died for it.

He heard a slight catch of breath behind him and turned slightly to see Bucky standing a short distance behind them. Bucky bit his lip, nodded once to himself, then came up to stand next to Steve.  He didn’t look into the grave, just knelt down, fisting his good hand into a bundle of the tall grass in front of him as he did, like he needed something to hold onto. 

“As am I,” Bucky offered, keeping his gaze in front of him, into the treelline of the forest in the distance. Tony didn’t reply, but Steve heard him suck in a shuddering breath, and felt the warmth of Tony’s hand against his, not holding it, just touching.  Tony reached beneath his tunic and pulled out a small rock, cratered and pitted with a gleaming silver metal Steve would recognize anywhere. 

“This is all that’s left of it,” Tony remarked, almost idly, letting it roll back and forth in his palm. He stared down at the small piece of stone in his hand, more valuable than any jewel, then tossed it into the slope of earth in front of him.  He pushed himself up, looked down once more, holding it for a long beat, then walked back the way he had come.  Steve stood, helped Bucky to his feet, and followed Tony past the barn and down to the Sept, where Captain Rhodes waited with the team. 

Tony spared a glance for Steve and Bucky, then turned to Rhodes. “Let it be done,” he ordered, and Rhodes nodded, then gave a sharp whistle that cut through the air like a blade and waved his hand in the air in what was apparently a signal.  The battalion of soldiers who had trailed behind him began making their way down through the town to the beach, where they began gathering the large rocks and stones that littered the sand.  They carried them up the small hill and began the arduous task of stacking them over the grave, one by one. 

“They all volunteered to come, by the way,” Rhodes said as Steve’s gaze darted over familiar faces, realizing for the first time that they were not just along for Tony’s protection. Ketterson passed by with a large, half-wet stone in his hands and nodded to him.  Redwing soared overhead, swooping and diving amongst the gulls, while Sam marched up the hill, one rock in each hand.  Steve saw the Commandos, too, picking out Dugan’s bright nest of hair in the crowd.  It would have been faster to form a chain and pass the stones along, but no one suggested such a thing.  Natasha walked by with a bag filled with rocks slung over her shoulder, then Thor with an impossibly large stone, followed by Bruce and Clint, carrying a huge stone between them.   As if by silent agreement, he and Tony made their way down to the beach together and joined in the silent procession.

It struck him, as he hefted a craggy chunk of stone that the sea had claimed from the cliffs long ago, that some of the soldiers who had volunteered had not done it out of duty to a title, and, not for the first time, felt humbled by their show of loyalty. It is dreams that stir the souls of men, Steve mentally repeated, and they had come here, to honor the dead, to grieve, to rebuild.  What is grief, if not the hope that it passes, that there is something beyond it?  As terrible as the deeds done here were, most people were capable of nearly unbearable acts of incredible grace, if only given the chance.  

The procession went on most of the day, into the heat of the late afternoon, though no one complained.   They ate when hungry, but no one truly stopped, as if a pause would disrupt something none of them could quite explain.

At some point, Steve looked down the beach to see Tony with his tunic off, using a pole to unearth a particularly large rock, helped by several soldiers and Captain Rhodes.  When it was done, the large cairn formed almost a low wall along the slope of the meadow.  Here and no further, Steve thought.   Bucky was the last to leave.  Steve saw him bend over and place two small stones just at the edge, and he knew where those stones had come from.  Let them rest with the others, Steve thought.   Let them all have rest.  It was the closest thing to a prayer he had managed all day, but it was the only thing that mattered.

“I’ve given the men leave to eat and rest for the night,” Captain Rhodes announced as Steve walked up to the small circle of figures just outside the Sept. Tony grunted in agreement, wiping a hand over the sweat and dirt that gathered along the back of his neck.  Steve himself was itchy with heat and the salty sting of the beach sand. 

“We should all eat. Clean up a bit,” Tony suggested, looking out to the sea.  As soon as Tony said it, Steve’s stomach decided to remind him it existed. 

“I know a place,” Steve offered.   “Used to be a swimming hole, but it’s shallow and secluded.  Better than a sea water bath.”

“We’ll take that,” Tony said, taking a bag from Rhodey’s outstretched hand.

“Actually, I think the team could take turns—“ Steve started.

“We’ll take that,” Tony repeated, while Rhodes chuckled under his breath and nodded, rolling his eyes a little as Steve gave him an apologetic glance.

“Come on,” Bucky said, patting Thor on the back as he walked past. “I’ll find us a place upriver.”

Tony caught up to Steve, pacing his steps as they walked out of the remains of the village. The soldiers seemed to take their departure as an opportunity to test the waters of the sea where it lolled into shore in much calmer waves here than the pounding surf at the bottom of Kingstown offered. The path was still where Steve remembered it, though overgrown with vines and grasses that reached his knee. 

This close to the sea, the tributaries that broke off from the River spread wide, some nearly as broad as the River herself, others, like this one, barely the breadth of a man. It rushed down over rocks smoothed by the ages into a small pool, the constant, pounding flow of the water enough to keep much of anything from growing in it, leaving the pool relatively clear of reeds and water plants.  He came upon it almost all at once, like it had simply appeared in front of him, sending him nearly stumbling down the flat, sandy bank that animals must still use to reach the clear waters.

 It was much as he remembered, he thought, still holding some sort of unearthly quality, like it was just a shade too beautiful to be entirely real.  His Mom used to say there were doors between worlds, and it had always struck him that, if that were true, this must be one of them, if only because the calm, shallow waters had always offered an escape to legs and arms that couldn’t swim and a boy who could barely breathe.  He remembered telling Stephen this, expecting the magician to laugh, but he had only given Steve a long, assessing look, and said that doors open both ways, something that had sent gooseflesh rising on Steve’s arms at the time.  Steve kicked off his shoes, pulled his tunic over his head, stripped off his pants and splashed into the cool water.

“I remember it being deeper,” Steve laughed, as he looked down at the water sloshing around his waist.

“I’ll bet you do,” Tony replied with a grin as sat down on the bank. He dropped the bag next to him and tugging his shoes off and pushing his pants down over his hips.  Steve squatted down and bent his head back, wetting his hair and sinking just low enough beneath the water to cover his face before he resurfaced.  Behind him, he heard Tony slip into the water and felt it rise and fall against his chest as Tony moved through it.  Tony pressed his chest against Steve’s back, the metal disc still heated from the sun was warm between his shoulders, soothing somehow. 

Steve felt Tony’s fingers dig through his hair, lathering it up with whatever had been in the bag Rhodes had given him. It felt amazing, sending shivers tingling down his back.  When Tony finished his ministrations, Steve ducked his head under the water again, then came up, shaking it off and running his hands over his face. 

“Here,” Tony said, nodding towards one of the boulders that protruded out from the grass forming a nearly flat shelf of rock, smoothed by ancient waters. Steve walked over to it, feet scraping through the sandy bottom of the pool, sending silvery minnows darting everywhere, looking for the choicest bits stirred by the movement.  Steve leaned against the warm rock, as Tony followed him, running the piece of soap up and down Steve’s arms, then gently up and down his back, over and over, until it was the stroke of Tony’s hand that Steve felt against the skin there.  Steve dipped under the water again, then reached out a hand to Tony, palm up.

“Your turn,” Steve said, taking the rough cake of soap from Tony’s hand. Tony turned, lowered himself, and let Steve cradle his head in the water while he ran the soap through the thick curls.  When he was done, Steve relaxed his hands, letting Tony’s head fall under the water while he rinsed the soap, then pulled him up, catching him under his arms.  Steve repeated the motions Tony had used, up and down Tony’s arms, gliding the soap from the tip of his fingers to the shallow of his neck, then down, over the metal disc that gleamed from the center of Tony’s chest.

“Thank you. For this,” Steve murmured, scooping handfuls of water up and letting them wash the lather off Tony’s skin.  His fingers followed, chasing the rivulets of water as they cascaded down.  It was ritual and reverence, the washing away of more than just dirt and sweat.  Whatever we leave here, Steve thought, the river will carry to the sea, and that seemed right somehow, that it should end here.  End.  Or begin.  The same thread, tethered together, unbreakable.

“I thought—I thought maybe,” Tony stopped, breathing out a huff of air. “I thought maybe this was what was missing.  That if I could give you this, maybe—maybe this would be enough.  But, I think—I see it now—I needed it, too.  Maybe I always did.  I didn’t understand, not until—kneeling there, seeing it.  I know it will never be the same for me as it is for you , but…I needed to see it.  For you. For James.  For them.  I’ll never know the full measure of what was taken from you, from him.  But I needed to see it for me, too. It is a hard thing.  To face the worst of what you can do,” Tony said, turning to face Steve. “But maybe it is the only way you can ever be capable of the best of yourself.”

Steve knew, now, how much of this journey had been for him, but he thought Bucky and Tony had the right of it. They both needed this, and needed to do this together.  They owed it to each other, and to the ghosts who had stood between them for so long.  Those ghosts were not all buried here, Steve thought, but maybe they should be.  An end and a beginning.  But only if he chose to let it be.  Tony wouldn’t let him go, either way, but they could be something more, something strong, if he allowed it.  He had long thought there was risk in ceasing to hold it so close, and maybe there was, but it was not near so great as what it was doing to Tony, to them, to continue to do so. 

_Every day, you leave me, and I don’t know how to get you to stay, to get you to let me have all of you, before you are too far away, and I’ll never have any of you._

He wanted to be Tony’s, all of him, because that was what Tony deserved, no less than the whole, but he had given pieces of himself to someone who had no right to them, who had taken them from him, and until now, he hadn’t known how to begin to get those back.

 “How do you feel?” Tony asked, drawing Steve from his thoughts.

“Good,” Steve answered automatically. “No, really, good,” Steve said again as he caught Tony’s frown.  “The movement, the stretching.  It helps.  Bruce said,” he stopped, voice catching a bit.  “Bruce said in a few years, I won’t even feel it.  Something about the way the skin heals itself.”

Something dark passed behind Tony’s eyes, and he flinched, his whole body seeming to stutter against the words, but he kept his gaze steady on Steve. “Years,” Tony repeated.  “You will be in pain for years.”

“It is not so—“ Steve started to object, then cut himself off. That wasn’t true, or not entirely true, and Tony deserved nothing less than the truth.  Had he not learned that by now, kneeling before the bones of those who he promised vengeance when they demanded justice?  Too much had been kept inside, turned into something it wasn’t, and he couldn’t do that, not here.  He owed them that much.  He owed Tony that much.  “The pain.  It’s—sometimes it’s bad.  When I ride or have to sit for long periods.  Or when the weather grows cold and damp.  Or just when it decides to hurt.  But,” Steve sighed, closing his eyes shut for a moment.  “I prefer to feel it this way.  It’s easier.  I don’t think it’s better though.”

“Steve,” Tony husked out, sounding like he was the one in pain.

“You think I’m someone I’m not. You all do,” Steve began haltingly.  “I keep wondering.  If I’d known.  That I would live.  Would I have chosen differently?”  Steve repeated the question he had asked himself so many times.  “That night, in the cell, when Lor—when Hammer came.  He—“ Steve broke off, blinking as he looked past Tony’s face to the sun where it streamed through the tops of the trees that surrounded the pool in long rays that cut across the ground.  In lines, he thought to himself.  “He said he would make it easy on me.  If I…if I did as he asked.  I thought I was going to die, so what were a few days of pain?  After—after, I thought maybe he would come back.  Every sound outside the cell, I thought, maybe that’s him.   It hurt so much.  I wanted to die.  I think I would have done anything to die, and a part of me--I keep thinking.  Maybe—maybe I would have chosen differently then.  Maybe I would have.  I don’t know.  I don’t know, Tony, and it—I can’t stop thinking about it sometimes.  When I’m with you.  I think about it when I’m with you, when I’m happy and everything is supposed to be good, and I can’t not think about it, that maybe.  Maybe, I would have chosen differently.   You all—you think I’m this—this person, and I’m not.  I’m not, Tony.  But, I don’t want to lose you, so I just—I just keep trying.  To be this person.  But I can’t—not here.  They all died, all of them, and I got to live, and have you and be happy, and I don’t know why—why, if I—if I would have chosen differently—I mean, why me, why do I get this, when I was so wrong about you, about everything?  Why me? Why do I get this?” Steve finished, the words spilling forth as a half-sob bursting out of his chest. 

It should hurt, saying it out loud, like something was being peeled off of him, pulled out of him. And it did, in the excruciating pause before Tony spoke, but it wasn’t that kind of pain.  There was pain bursting bright and fierce inside him, making his stomach churn and clench, but it was like something set loose after being held in a vice for too long, blood flowing back into limbs that had forgotten the feeling, the first breath of air when you break the surface.  Pain, yes, but the kind that comes when the fear of staying is greater than the pain of moving through it, because something waited on the other side of it.  Tony waited.  He had been waiting, for so very long, waiting with his hand held out, for Steve to find him.

“Steve, gods, Steve, none of that— _none_ of that, Steve—was your doing.  That was never going to be anything other than what it was.  Pierce wanted a demonstration, something to keep everyone else in line.  Hammer,” Tony stuttered, clamping his jaw together around the word, his grip on Steve’s sides turning white-knuckled.  Something passed over Tony’s face, darkening it the way the sky above the sea deepens in an instant with the rise of a storm, and it occurred to Steve that Hammer was fortunate to have died leagues away from the city, safe from Tony’s wrath.  That shouldn’t be such a welcome thought, but it was.  “There was never any choice there, Steve.  He was toying with you, because he could, the fucking bastard,” Tony spat out, voice gone hard.  “Because he was never more than a scared little nothing of a man who would torment anyone he gained power over.  You think you have If you hear nothing else from me, hear this.  You never had a choice.   And whatever you did to get through it, there is absolutely no version of you that I would not love more than anything else on this earth.”

Steve stared at him, letting the words wash over him, anoint him with a benediction he had not realized he had been seeking. Until Tony said them out loud, he had not known how much he craved them, needed to hear them spoken into the world.  It took nothing away, not really, yet he was instantly lighter, almost shaking with relief. His insides felt soft, like something had twisted into a knot inside him was slowly being undone, a tension he had not meant to keep slowly unspooling.  He was not alone.  Not anymore.  He hadn’t realized it until it left him, the veil of loneliness that had settled over him all these months lifting, leaving him reeling with the sudden intensity of being here, being with Tony, together in a way he had not allowed until now. 

Tony’s hands came up quick, clutching at the sides of Steve’s face and pulling Steve’s mouth to his, fierce and insistent. The kiss was desperate, primal, almost brutal, filled with so much anguish that Steve couldn’t tell which of them was breaking more.

“Please, please, Steve, please,” Tony begged, a desolate half-moan against Steve’s mouth. “Please let me love you as you do me, as you are, not as you think you should be.  Please believe me that I do, that I will.  Forever,” Tony pleaded, punctuating each request with kisses that would have been cruel from anyone else, sharp tongue edging into Steve’s mouth with a demanding force, teeth scraping over Steve’s bottom lip, Tony’s mouth chasing his breath away.  “Look at me,” Tony demanded, shaking the hands that still held Steve’s jaw between them.  “Look at me. _See_ me.  Just me. This is me, loving you, all of you.  You have no idea.  What it is like, to call you mine.  Loving you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. There is nothing that can tear you from me.  Nothing, Steve.  I could no more let any part of you go than live a half-life.  You think this part of you, this darkness, makes you less worthy?  How could I trust a man who has not been tested by darkness to light the way? You are that for me, and your path shall be my own, wherever that takes us.  The same thread.  Bound together.  In this life and whatever follows.”

Steve’s stomach swooped, and the sand under his feet shifted. It felt like he was sinking, dropping through this place through one of those paths to another world, and for the first time since before he climbed down a cliff and swam towards an end, he thought he could go, because someone would be with him, and they could find their way together. 

He met Tony’s kiss with an urgency all his own, pouring everything he couldn’t quite say into it, love and gratitude and desire. Hope.  Dreams.  He would give Tony a future, a house by the sea, the thing he had lost and kept trying to regain without understanding what it was he was trying to rebuild was not made of stone and earth, but something more. Something far, far stronger. 

It was like falling, that feeling you sometimes get as drift off to sleep only to startle awake in surprise, Steve thought, mind going from sluggish and almost distant to instantly present. It was life, and it was death, the line that connects them where everything that matters dwells.  The same thread, an eternal loop.  He had removed himself from Tony for too long, holding something of himself back out of fear, when Tony offered freedom.  He could see it all now in one blinding instant of clarity.  Tony would ease the way, keep pace with him, and carry him when he needed it.  He had thought they were pulled towards one another.  The fine amber and the simple hay, his mind supplied, calling up an image from his childhood.  But they had only ever been the spark between. 

Tony was warm, flush against him in the cold water, and Steve could feel himself harden, tightness and heat settling low in his belly with an insistent pressure. He heard Tony groan, warm breath filling his mouth as Tony’s tongue licked inside, deepening the kiss as Tony sidled his body into Steve’s.  Steve’s whole body felt overheated, even in the cool water, but he wrapped his arms around Tony, splaying them over Tony’s back, as he pulled him closer, seeking the friction, the flush of skin against his own, the way  the cool metal of the disc felt pressed against his heart.

“Gods, Steve,” Tony panted out in rough heaves, tipping his head back enough to put some space between them.

“I love you,” Steve breathed out, feeling it like a revelation, though it was not new, not exactly. It had always been true, but it was _more_ true now in some indefinable way.  It made no sense, how something could reshape itself like that, become truer, yet it had. It was the steel born from the forge, shaped and hardened into something unbreakable.  “I love you, Tony.” 

Tony’s smile was soft, but his eyes were fierce and intent. “That is the only dream I have, and the only future I ask,” Tony whispered, clasping his hands on the sides of Steve’s face and bringing his lips to Steve’s forehead. 

Steve let out a huff of air, not quite a laugh, though something akin to giddiness was welling up inside of him, making him almost lightheaded. This was what it felt like, he thought dazedly.  To be loved, wholly and completely, for who he was.  Maybe the purest form of love was nothing more than simple acceptance, unconditional and with nothing withheld.  Perhaps it was the most difficult, as well. 

“I love you,” Steve repeated, almost wanting to shout with it, let it pour out of him, because he was filled with the overpowering sense of it, like it was consuming him from the inside out. Tony arched towards him, like he was being pulled towards the words, his whole body going rigid and taut.  Steve’s hands fell to clutch at Tony’s hips, feeling the angle of bone under his fingers.  He was suddenly conscious of their bodies, pressed together, slick with water, sliding against each other almost unconsciously.  Everywhere Tony’s skin touched burned like a brand, and Steve realized with a heady sort of haze that he was hard, the surge of desire hitting him at once, sending fire through his blood.

“And I, you. My beloved.  My Prince,” Tony said, voice teetering between a plea and something else, something hope-filled and longing.  Tony leaned up, stroking his thumb across Steve’s jaw, and placed a light kiss to Steve’s lips.  Steve bent his head and captured Tony’s bottom lip between his own, nipping at it, then sucking lightly to soothe.  One of the hands on Tony’s hip slipped lower, cupping the curve of his bottom, kneading the soft flesh there.  He heard Tony’s sharp intake of breath, followed by a low groan, and tilted his head, deepening the kiss, letting Tony’s quick tongue work its way inside his mouth.  It was the sloshing of water, sending waves between them, that made Steve realize he was propelling Tony back towards the shore.  Tony snapped his head back, gripping Steve’s upper arms where he still held onto one of Tony’s hips.

“Wait,” Tony husked out, sending Steve’s mind to a stuttering halt. He blinked down at him in confusion.  “Clint!” Tony called out, cocking his head and getting only silence in response.  “Just checking,” he said, a grin splitting his features. 

Steve let out a surprised bark of laughter, ducking his head to mouth at Tony’s jawline, where it curved just under his ear, sucking the warm skin there into his mouth. He could taste soap and the verdant water, and felt Tony shudder against him, the hands on his arms spasming hard enough to bruise.  “Want you,” Steve panted, breath painting the words into Tony’s skin. 

“Bag,” Tony managed, letting his head fall back to grant Steve access. Steve continued his trailing kisses down Tony’s throat, to the hollow where he could feel the beat of Tony’s heart on his lips.  “Gods, Steve.  Bag.  The bag—oh, fuck, don’t stop.”  Steve didn’t, keeping his mouth pressed to Tony’s flesh.  He dropped his other hand from Tony’s hip and lifted, scooping him up and carrying him out of the water, depositing him on his feet on the bank.  The feel of Tony’s body sliding down against his own, damp with water and hard with his own need, sent waves of desire spiking through Steve.  The warmth spreading over his skin seemed to concentrate itself low in his belly, coiling tightly, until he couldn’t think of anything beyond the feel of Tony against him, the way he smelled and tasted, the sounds he was making, high and needy, desperate little moans that made Steve’s cock twitch in response. 

Steve released Tony long enough to grab for the bag, pulling out a finely woven blanket, embroidered with Tony’s crest, which Tony snatched from his hands and threw to the ground before Steve could protest. Tony kicked at the blanket’s corners, spreading it out unevenly over the soft sand that sank into the shallows of the pool.  Steve fumbled a hand into the bag, fingers curling around a jar, only to drop it and the bag when Tony pushed up against him, lining their cocks up and thrusting his hips forward, rubbing their lengths together.  It reminded Steve of their first night together, and he didn’t think it was an accident on Tony’s part.  This was as much a first time as that had been, in a far different way.  He reached out again and pulled Tony to him, covering Tony’s mouth with his own.  It wasn’t his best effort, all teeth and tongue and need bubbling over, but he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to think with Tony canting his hips against him, grazing over-sensitized skin there almost painfully.

Tony tore his mouth away from Steve’s, leaning his head forward to kiss and suck his way down Steve’s throat. His hands were running up and down Steve’s sides, seeming to dip lower on each stroke, closer to where Steve desperately wanted to be touched. Then Tony stepped back, tugging at Steve’s hand until they were in the middle of the spread blanket, and sank to his knees.  His hands came up to grip the backs of Steve’s thighs, stroking up and down over the wet skin, head tilted up to look at Steve with eyes gone dark and intent.

“T—Tony,” Steve stammered, not sure how he felt, looking down at Tony. Tony had done this before, of course, but always in their bed, sliding down along Steve’s body to bury himself between Steve’s thighs.  This…this was different, Tony on his knees before him.  It felt like it should be wrong, but his body was already too far along disagreeing with him on that for his mind to form a coherent argument as to why. 

“Shhh,” Tony hushed him, shifting forward to nuzzle at the line of Steve’s thigh, just below his stomach, making it swoop and drop. Heat and pressure built in his belly, a fissure of something constricting deep inside him, leaving him shaking, body tingling with the need to be touched.  He could feel Tony’s breath against his skin, almost kisses where he nosed against the slick skin at the juncture of his thighs, so close to what Steve wanted, he was ready to beg, and it occurred to him that Tony on his knees was somehow just as powerful as in any other position.  Tony looked up at him, gaze locked on Steve’s face as he took Steve into his mouth, the head of Steve’s cock disappearing behind Tony’s lips as a moan escaped Tony’s throat, low and long, like this was something he wanted as desperately as Steve did. 

Steve’s eyes drifted shut and his head lolled back as Tony’s tongue lapped along the underside of his cock, lips pursing to suck lightly around the throbbing skin. When he opened his eyes again, he was staring through the bows of trees at a pinkening sky in an impossibly bright world.  He blinked and looked down again, finding Tony watching him, eyes wide and nearly black, an exultant look on his face.  Steve felt him flick his tongue out against the tip of Steve’s cock, then he flattened his tongue to swirl around the head in long, lingering circles.  It was almost too much, too much at once, and Steve heard himself cry out, swaying slightly.  His hands went to the top of Tony’s head and winding in his hair seemingly of their own accord, but it anchored him, somehow helping him to stay upright.

“Tony,” Steve said again, as Tony started slowly, almost languorously, bobbing his head up and down along Steve’s length. He tried to find some other word, but  that was all that filled his mind, bright and searing and all around him.  Steve groaned as Tony took him deeper into the liquid heat of his mouth, quick, sharp tongue curling and pressing against the underside.  Tony hummed, eyes on Steve, and the vibrations seemed to go from the end of Steve’s cock to every part of his body at once.  Tony pulled back, almost letting Steve’s cock fall out of his mouth, then sucked hard at the head, tongue darting out to flick against the head over and over as his cheeks concaved with the effort.   Steve could feel himself leaking into Tony’s mouth, though Tony didn’t seem to mind, just kept suckling at his shaft, mouth and tongue moving in tandem as Steve fought the urge to thrust, to bury himself inside Tony’s mouth, watch Tony’s lips stretch around him.

Tony pulled his mouth off, letting Steve slip out of him almost delicately as his tongue curled, catching the last bead of moisture off the tip. He held it there, long enough for Steve to see, then ran it over his lips, smearing it across them, like he wanted to coat them with the taste.  It was the most erotic thing Steve had ever seen, but it was the look in Tony’s eyes, smoky black with satisfaction, that sent Steve over the edge, heart pumping past a precipice he hadn’t realized he was racing towards until he crested it.  Steve reached out a hand, catching Tony’s jaw, and traced the pad of his thumb between Tony’s lips over the pattern Tony’s tongue had taken.

“Tony,” Steve choked out, half a gasp. He fell to his knees in front of Tony, reaching out both hands to cradle the undersides of his jaw. 

“You should hear out you say my name,” Tony whispered breathily, face going soft and slack. “Like it is the most beautiful word you’ve ever heard.  I could hear it for the rest of my life and never grow tired of it.”

Steve moved forward then, slowly, deliberately, keeping his eyes on Tony as he pressed his lips to Tony’s. It would have been chaste, sweet, but he could just taste the hint of his own bitterness there, and felt his cock judder in response, an impossibly heavy fullness settling there.  Tony settled back on the blanket then, arching his back and stretching out his limbs as he stared up at Steve, all sharp angles and richly tanned skin.  Steve fumbled around on the blanket for the jar he’d dropped, finally finding it with clumsy fingers that refused to cooperate.  He managed to get it open, scooping out a generous portion of the congealed oil inside.  He coated his hands with it, warming it between them, then ran them over his cock, slicking himself. 

Tony was watching his movements, his hands running up and down his stomach, skimming over his nipples until they pebbled, and Steve felt his mouth water. Tony wasn’t touching himself, not yet, but coming close enough that Steve reached up and circled a hand around the throbbing length, stilling Tony’s movements where his hands splayed wide across his chest, fingers brushing over the disc where it sank into his chest in a cradle of raised, puckered skin. 

“It is the most beautiful word I’ve ever heard,” Steve husked out. Tony sucked in a harsh breath that seemed to rattle through him, setting his body in motion.  His head twisted to the side, then back again in jerky, quaking movements, almost like he wanted to deny it, but he kept quiet.  Tony’s hands dropped to the blanket, clenching at it while his body writhed beneath Steve’s, searching for a purchase that eluded him.  “It is—you are everything.  I don’t know how to say it.  It is…just you.  You are everything.  To me.  How could that be anything other than the most beautiful word to say?”

“Steve,” Tony breathed out, long and low, like chant or a prayer, almost a hum, and Steve knew it for the answer it was.

Steve started running his hand up and down Tony’s cock, slowly at first, twisting his wrist on each stroke to get the friction Tony needed. It was a beautiful sight, Tony coming undone, Steve thought, the thought that he got to have this still new enough to leave him dazed.  Tony loved so fiercely, so deeply, it was a tidal pull that could overwhelm, drag at you until you were pulled under its wake, or it could remake the world.  Life and death, Steve thought, watching Tony’s eyes flutter shut, breath coming in sharp, short pants.  Not a beginning, nor an end, but a loop, a circle.  A man, on the edge of the water, holding the moon in his hands.

He could feel Tony harden under the steady rhythm of his hand, and quickened his pace, tracing a thumb over the sensitive head the way Tony had done to him with his tongue. He nudged closer to Tony, his own cock dripping now, standing upright against his belly, so hard he could barely think of touching it, yet wanting nothing else but to feel the familiar warm tightness of Tony’s body around him.  He slowed his hand, hearing a muttered curse from Tony that quickly turned into a stuttering groan as Steve pressed the palm of his hand to the place at the underside of Tony’s cock where his balls hung, full and tight. 

“Gods, fuck,” Tony bit out, hips bucking at the new pressure. Steve dropped his hands to Tony’s knees, pushing them apart.  He heard Tony whine as he ghosted his fingers up and down the inside of his thighs, lower and lower until he ran a slick finger over Tony’s entrance, teasing at it a bit before he slipped a slickened finger inside him.  Steve took his time, as he always did, enjoying watching Tony come apart as he worked his body open.  By the time Steve added a second finger, Tony was trembling, legs shifting further apart as he grunted at the new fullness.  He sometimes thought he could watch Tony like this forever and never tire of it, the way his lids grew heavy over dark eyes that watched Steve’s movements with a fierce sort of tenderness. 

“Inside me,” Tony mumbled, though it came out garbled, like his tongue was too big for his mouth. “Want to feel you.  Want to feel full of you.  Please.  Please, Steve.  Let me feel you.  Gods, just—I’m good, I’m good, please.  Need you inside me.  Going to feel so good.  Feel full of you.  Be yours.  Let me be yours, gods, please, just--fuck.  Fuck. Fuck, Steve, please!” Tony stuttered, the last ending in a thready, high-pitched cry as Steve’s fingers curled deep inside him, brushing against the spot he knew drove Tony mad.  Tony tipped his head back, body arching like pulled on a bowstring.  Steve felt like he couldn’t quite get enough air into his body, and Tony’s words sucked the last of it out of him in a whoosh, his whole body stiffening and shuddering. 

He pushed a third slick finger in, heard Tony’s groan that sounded almost petulantly disappointed, then pulled his hand away and grabbed the jar, adding more of the jellied oil to his hands, then spreading it again over himself. Just that touch was enough to send another spurt of liquid from the tip into his hand as he rubbed.  He stared at it a moment, then used that, too, looking up to see Tony’s wide eyes staring at him with a heated gaze that burned through Steve’s body, making a sweat break out over his flushed skin. 

Tony darted out is tongue, licking it over his lips. Steve’s mouth fell open, going dry at the sight.  Steve knew the gesture was intentional, but couldn’t stop his own body’s reaction to it.  He could read triumph in Tony’s expression as he hooked his arms under Tony’s hips and lifted him, moving his hips to line up his cock.  He took a last, steadying breath, gaze shifting up to Tony’s face as he thrust inside the tight, wet heat of Tony’s body, slowly, so slowly he ached with the effort.  He meant to watch Tony’s reactions, but his eyes dropped to where their bodies joined of their accord, and he watched himself disappear inside the sheath of Tony’s body as it stretched around him. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” Tony breathed out, hands coming up to wrap around Steve’s neck, fingers winding through the hair on the back of his head. Tony pulled Steve’s head down, licking into Steve’s mouth chasing the groan that came with the sudden shift of position as Steve seated himself fully, deeply inside of Tony.  He could feel Tony’s body shaking and clenching around him, Tony’s still-hard cock leaking between their stomachs.  He pushed himself up on his arms, bracing them on either side of Tony’s head, keeping his mouth pressed to Tony’s. 

The kiss was wet and sloppy, but the dual sensations of Tony’s mouth and Tony’s body was enough to send Steve over whatever edge he’d been holding to, and he started to thrust in long, slow gliding strokes. Tony’s body rocked in time with the rhythm, losing Steve’s mouth, then finding it again.  Steve finally pushed himself back, settling on his knees between Tony’s thighs, lifting Tony again so he could find the angle Tony liked, then ramming home.  Tony’s hands, which had been reaching for him in protest, clenched into fists, then dove to curl in the blanket as he tossed his head back and forth.  Steve hooked an arm under one of Tony’s knees, and got his other hand around Tony’s cock again. 

“Steve-fuck-gods,” Tony babbled, nearly incoherent as the string of words were torn from his lips. Tony’s hips canted into his hand in jerky, uncontrolled motions as Steve began stroking, running the pad of his thumb along the throbbing vein that pulsed underneath, then over the slit on the tip, forming a circle with his hand and stroking from head to root in firm, fast motions.  Tony had already been close, and that was all it took, long strings of white coating Steve’s hand and Tony’s stomach as Tony cried out, face going rigid, mouth working around words that he couldn’t seem to speak.  Then his whole body slackened, going pliant as Steve continued to plunge in and out of him, finding the hard nub deep inside of Tony’s body on each thrust. 

Tony’s mouth formed an O, then split into almost a grimace, eyes drooping shut as he rode out each stroke. Seeing Tony like that, watching his pleasure crest over him, slammed into Steve with a physical force, making his breath come and go in great heaves as his thrusts sped up, then faltered, and before he knew it, a cry was being ripped from his body and he was coming apart in bursts of bright, hot light tearing through him.

 His whole body shook with it as he slammed into Tony a few, final strokes, emptying himself completely, his body, his soul, everything pouring into Tony for a moment before looping back to him. It was all almost too much, his vision going dark but bright at the same time, and he understood for the first time what was meant by blinding light.  He could feel every shudder like a quake, every clench of Tony around him was a vice, every huff of breath a whirlwind.  Steve fell forward, only reflexes born of too many years of combat training catching him before he landed full-force on top of Tony’s chest. 

He managed to brace his forearms on either side of Tony’s head, hands threading through Tony’s tousled hair, head dipping forward to bury against Tony’s shoulder. Steve could feel Tony’s hands running over his back in slow, gentle strokes.  Tony was making soothing, shushing sounds into Steve’s temple.  Steve wondered why, then realized he was still shuddering, and some kind of half-sob, half-gasps were being torn from his throat.  He wanted to tell Tony that it had been too good, too much, too everything, but he couldn’t get his throat to do more than try to swallow over a sand-dry patch. 

He was still buried inside Tony, and started to move, but Tony’s hands went tight on his back, holding him in place. “Not yet,” Tony whispered, then sealed the words with a kiss to the side of Steve’s head.  “Stay with me a little longer.”  Steve stilled, Tony’s words enough to bind his body back together somehow. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, feeling Tony’s fluttery kisses down his jaw and neck, over the curve of his shoulder, hands still stroking across Steve’s back.  When Steve finally pushed himself up on quavering arms and slipped out, separating them, it was Tony who sighed, hands gripping Steve’s upper arms, like he needed some way to maintain the connection.  Steve pressed a long, hard kiss to Tony’s forehead, then rolled to the side, exhausted, but not willing to let the moment go long enough to sleep.  He felt Tony turn into him, pressing his body flush with Steve’s, skin still damp with water and sweat, hair a wild array of dark curls. 

Steve cradled Tony’s head in the crook of his arm. His other hand splayed over Tony’s chest, fingers idly running along the seam of skin that circled the disc.  The waning afternoon light that filtered through the trees above, dappling Tony’s skin with spots of brightness.  He stroked his hand across Tony’s chest, watching as the light wavered minutely as he moved through it, like it didn’t want to be caught.

“We should get back,” Steve finally said, mainly because it seemed a thing he ought to say. He made no move to disentangle himself from Tony though, and Tony answered by burrowing into Steve’s side.

“If they bother us, I’ll banish them, gods help me, I will,” Tony muttered, earning a low chuckle from Steve. Steve closed his eyes, feeling warm and heavy-limbed.  He could hear the sound of Tony’s breathing, the rush of the water over the rocks, the sounds of the forest…there is death and sorrow here, Steve thought, but there is life and laughter, too.  We brought it with us.  That is what Tony had been trying to show him, he realized.  He would always carry something of this place with him, something of that other place with him, too, but it was up to him  how much, and for too long, he had given it more space than it was due. 

He thought he dozed, lost between sleep and wakefulness, but there were no dreams, just the weight of Tony in his arms, and maybe that was the same. The sun was setting, sky going gray and a low crescent moon already smiling at them through the trees when he finally roused himself to move.  Tony, surprisingly, didn’t protest, though they both cried out in shock and then laughter when they splashed into the water again, finding it felt far colder the second time.  Clean again, they dressed, though Steve immediately decided he needed to change.  His clothes were caked with dried sweat and dirt, and they clung to his skin. 

They walked the path back to the village together, hand in hand, and Steve was reminded of his mother’s words again. A door between worlds, he thought, and I’ve come out the other side.  The desiccated village glowed with a ring of light from the fires lit by the soldiers where they camped at the edges.  The beach was almost smooth, the familiar rocks that had littered it for hundreds of years having now found their final resting place.  It was fitting, Steve thought, that the sea should deliver their cairn.  They were people of the water, and had not deserved to end in ash and smoke. 

“I must speak with Rhodey,” Tony said from next to him, drawing Steve from his thoughts. Steve looked down at him, then looked again, almost seeming to see the transformation happen, as Tony went from something that he gave only to Steve to what it was he allowed for the world.  “Our tent is there,” Tony said with a jerk of his head, as if Steve couldn’t pick out the large tent with Tony’s banner flapping in the wind over top of it.  The one underneath caught his eye though, the familiar red, white and blue standard of Brookland catching proudly on the breeze beneath its King’s.    Steve felt a wave of tenderness rush through him at the sight, and the thoughtfulness that it signaled.   “Your clothes are there,” Tony added, something almost like nervousness shifting under his voice.

Steve nodded, turned, then stopped. He tugged Tony’s hand to his lips and brushed his fingers across the knuckles, well aware that all eyes were on them now that they had returned.  Tony watched him, opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut, but his eyes were lit with something bright and intense. 

“I hope—“ Tony started, then broke off, gaze flicking down the beach before he drew it back to Steve. “I hope this is all that you wanted.  Know that…know that you are all I want.  However that may be.”  It struck Steve as an odd thing to say, but the moment had a strange fragility to it, like they were both aware of some spell neither wanted to be the one to break.  A door through worlds, Steve thought.  And neither of us wants to turn back, but each would follow the other, and we are not so far away from it that we have the trust of distance yet.

“This…Tony, this is…I didn’t know I wanted it. Needed it. But more than anything, I needed to do this with you,” Steve said with an absolute certainty.  “My place will ever be beside you.  I thought that was something I gave to you.  Only now…now I see, it was I who gained from it,” Steve stammered, unsure of the right words to convey what he was feeling, though by the way Tony’s face went soft, almost achingly tender, Steve thought Tony understood. 

Steve released Tony’s hand, having forgotten he was still clinging to him, then walked down towards the tent where it stood some paces down from the Sept. It looked huge against the barren backdrop, rivaling only the ruined Sept for stature.  He turned once, just before he ducked inside the tent, and saw Tony still standing where he had left him.  

The tent was draped with tapestries adorning the walls.   Two torches glowed from iron sconces attached to the large center pole, the smoke rising out the smokehole at the top. A huge bed dominated one side of the room, and Steve would have laughed, but when he sat down on the edge, he could feel the smooth plank of oak under his side, and the gesture was so very Tony, in ways few understood, that he felt his eyes prickling and burning all of a sudden.  His sword and shield leaned against the center pole, and he remembered he needed to thank Thor.  A tall, multi-drawered chest stood against one of the far walls, and a round table surrounded by four chairs sat in the middle.  He didn’t see his pack, and the chest was empty, though there was a large bundle tied with cord on one corner of the bed.  He stood and walked around the bed, then bent and picked it up, pulling off the cord, then blinked down at the contents, pulling out the item on top and holding it up in front of him.

It was a tunic, but that was a bit like saying the shield was a shield. The material was of a lush velvet, the deep blue of the sea after a storm, shot through with threads of red and silvery white.  He frowned in confusion, then heard a low, deliberate cough behind him.  He turned, the question on his lips fading away as he saw Bucky standing just inside the tent flap.  His hair was tied back, face clean-shaven, and he was dressed in a finely done tunic, breeches and boots that touched his knees, all in black, save for his metal arm, the swirling pattern engraved onto the metal seeming to undulate in the firelight.

Steve swallowed, and looked again at the garment in his hands, realization slowly dawning.

“I said I would be there for the wedding,” Bucky said softly.

“Buck—“ Steve began, then stopped, at a loss for words.

“This was always what you wanted,” Bucky continued as if Steve had not spoken.

“How—how did he even know—how could he when I never---” Steve asked. “You—you did this?”

“That infernal bird of Wilson’s arrived a couple of weeks ago. Just showed up one morning,” Bucky explained.  “I think Stark was worried about you.  Got Wilson to send his familiar.”

“But—but how?” Steve repeated, still not understanding.

“Can’t read or write as good as you, but I saw Stark’s letter. The last one,” Bucky said.  “Kept thinking about it, all the way out here.  ’Come home.’ He wants you back there, but you were still stuck here.  Maybe you both were.  Figured, he’s a smart guy.  I remembered the letters.  Hell, I thought that bird was going to peck them out in my blood if I didn’t write something.  Thought maybe, if I send that message back to him, maybe he would understand.  Look, Stevie,” Bucky went on after a deep breath.  “I needed to come here.  For them. For me.  Needed to walk away, if I could.  I thought I needed to do that by myself, but when I got here…there’s so much.  So much grief.  And I don’t get to hoard all of that.”

“You weren’t—Bucky, you weren’t,” Steve protested.

“Rebuild, you said. I told you that was impossible, but rebuilding isn’t just building walls and thatching roofs, Steve.  I see that now.  It all started here.  Everything that went wrong for us.  But it wasn’t always like that.  Tell me you didn’t feel it when you came back?  It was good here, once.  Hell, it was great here, once.  I’d let myself forget tha ,” Bucky added.  “You want to do something for the Realm, help it heal?  Let it begin here.  Something terrible started here, all those years ago.  But something else can start here, too.  Maybe it should.”

Steve nodded slowly, turning back to look at the tunic clutched tightly in his hands. This was what Tony had meant, out there on the path, and back in the woods, too.  He’d been unsure, nervous even, wondering if he was doing the right thing, wanting so badly to give Steve what he believed he wanted.  Steve dropped the tunic on the bed and tugged his shirt over his head, then kicked off his boots and pulled his breeches down.  He grabbed the underclothes out of the bundle and donned those first, then the soft, fitted breeches, also done in a dark blue and the shiny leather boots over top of those.  The tunic, he put on last, feeling Bucky’s hands behind him as he pulled it over his head, smoothing it down.

“Turn around,” Bucky ordered, brushing imaginary dust off the shoulders and sides, then running a hand through Steve’s hair, trying to get it to flatten. “Well.  I guess you’ll do,” Bucky said with a long-suffering sigh, then grinned widely.  “Gods, Steve.  Our lives,” he said, shaking his head for emphasis.  “He’s waiting,” Bucky finished, voice going low as the smile slipped off his face into something far more serious.

He was, Steve thought with a sharp pang. Tony had been waiting for him for a long time.  Too long, Steve thought with a grimace, but that was over.  The same thread.  A loop.  A circle, he thought, mind flashing to the disc in Tony’s chest as his eyes fell on his shield.  There was no meeting halfway, no partial journey to take.  There was only nothing or everything, and Tony was everything.

“You look good,” Bucky said in a hushed, almost embarrassed tone. “Now, go marry your armorer.”

Steve walked out of the tent, Bucky on his heels, and first saw the Sept, aglow with soft, golden light. Tony stood outside, Captain Rhodes next to him, resplendent in dark gray, but Steve had eyes only for Tony.  Even at this distance, Steve could see the slight relaxation of his stance when he saw Steve.  Tony wore his colors, of course, deep red, as dark as blood on snow, darted through with gold, a simple golden circlet sitting low around his head.  It was partly enameled and set with uncut gemstones, the hammered gold pieces joined together by small hinges.  Steve recognized it, only by some vague story he had heard talk of when he was younger.  The Iron Crown, the first worn by a Stark when the Lords bent the knee however many centuries ago it was.  Inside was an iron bad, on which the gold plates were affixed.  The iron had come from the sword the first Stark King buried in the ground to both lay claim to the Realm and bind himself to its protection.

“My King,” Steve said formally, bowing his head slightly as he came to a halt in front of Tony.

“Give us a moment,” Tony said to Rhodes and Bucky without taking his eyes off Steve. Both hurriedly complied, booted feet scraping over the stone floor of the Sept as they walked inside.  “I wasn’t sure.  If you’d want this.  Here, I mean,” Tony amended, though Steve wasn’t entirely sure that he meant just the last of it, and seeing that made something clench like a vice around his heart.

“My place has only ever been by your side,” Steve insisted, watching the play of emotions across Tony’s face as he swallowed heavily. Hope, fear, and a desperate kind of aching need, like Steve was offering him something vital.  “I owe you everything.  I owe you all of me,” Steve insisted stubbornly.  “I would give that to you, if you would have me. Whether we say the words here, under the stars, or beneath gilded ceiling, as long as I am with you.”

Tony nodded his head jerkily, his throat clicking dryly like he was struggling to say more. Tony blinked rapidly, eyes bright in the candlelight spilling out from the Sept.  Steve watched him a moment longer, then turned towards the door to the Sept and held out his arm, aware of Tony’s gaze on him.  He felt the weight of Tony’s arm join his, then turned his head to look down at him.  Steve leaned over, just barely brushing his lips against Tony’s cheek.  “A house by the sea,” he whispered into Tony’s ear.  “I cannot offer much.  But, I think we could be happy,” he said, repeating the words he had said so long ago as they walked the forest toward Lord Ellis’ and all the terrible events that awaited them. 

“I want everything. I want forever,” Tony rejoined, and Steve’s chest tightened like in a vice as he remembered what it had felt like to hear those words from Tony so many months ago as he had knelt on the battlefield, offering all of himself when he lacked all of the pieces to give.

They entered the Sept together, surrounded by familiar faces, though Steve would remember it all in a daze. Only Tony seemed to have solid form.  The Avengers were there, of course, Thor beaming brightly, Bruce offering a small, wobbly smile as they passed.  Natasha nudged Clint, who smiled down at her, his hand wrapped around Coulson’s.  The Commandos were there, as well. Dugan raised his hand in salute as Morita rolled his eyes.  He saw Ms. Potts in attendance as well, dabbing at the corners of her eyes where she leaned against Jarvis’ shoulder, a trembling smile crossing her features.  Captain Rhodes and Bucky stood on opposite sides of the cracked altar, a holy man between them in the simple brown garb of his calling.  Someone had laid down long, green fronds from the river to cover their path, as was tradition, and his eyes found Bucky’s, a grateful smile forming as he watched his friend start to shrug, then blink and drop his head, wiping his arm over his face.

When they reached the altar, he and Tony knelt before the holy man and bowed their heads as he recited a prayer.

“These two come before the gods and men to be bound together,” the holy man intoned. “Let this symbolize their devotion and the strength of their union,” he continued, then reached out to take the rope from Bucky and Rhodes, who stepped up together to offer it.  Steve had half expected cord of golden links or something equally elaborate, but it was a simple rope, rough and scraggly, the kind he woven as he sat confined to his bed.  He held out his arm next to where Tony extended his hand, and the holy man began winding the cord around them.  

Once for trust, once for joy, once for sorrow, once for plenty, once for want and the final binding for forgiveness, for that was one that needed to be closest to love, which tied the knot. It was only when Steve looked down at their bound hands that he caught it, the light, silvery flash buried against the rope, tiny links of chain in a metal that Steve knew already bound them.  His breath caught in his throat, the sudden hitch catching Tony’s attention.

Something more. Something stronger. 

Something unbreakable.

Steve threaded his fingers through Tony’s, squeezing tightly. Tony looked over at him, eyes swimming with softness, and Steve knew he understood. 

“Now,” the holy man said. “Rise together.  As one.  From this day forward.”

He heard a cheer erupt, splitting the solemn air as their friends whooped and hollered. Steve brought their bound hands up, hands still joined and pulled Tony into a searing kiss.  If anything, the noise behind them got louder, but it barely registered.  There was Tony, only Tony, and he was everything.  They walked out of the Sept together.  The soldiers were gathered outside, and as soon as he and Tony exited, they knelt behind their swords, heads bowed in a show of fealty that they had already shown with far greater surety earlier that day. 

“Tell me you are happy,” Tony asked, words so quiet they were almost carried off by the wind from the sea like sharp, stinging flecks of sand that built the earth.

“Better,” Steve replied, pulling Tony closer. He brought his hands up, one still bound with Tony’s, and cupped Tony’s face in his hands.  Tony’s own hands covered Steve’s, holding him there.  Steve glanced around him at the soldiers, the pile of stones in the distance, his friends and family surrounding him, and Tony.  Tony, most of all.   Tony, who made it true. 

“I am home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends the requests I received for my Thank You Fics! Huge thank you to my followers on tumblr for participating. This was all done to show them my appreciation, so hopefully, those who requested something enjoyed what they received.
> 
> I'd also like to thank Joss Whedon for Age of Ultron making all my headcanons about how messed up Steve is into canon. Made writing this a lot easier!
> 
> Oh, and the Iron Crown is a real thing. It is based on the Iron Crown of Lombardy, and the description is taken largely from that.


	17. Fanart for Chapter 9 by stitchyarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adorable fanart by stitchyarts.tumblr.com for Chapter 9, featuring de-serumed Steve being annoyed and Tony being protective.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHG2)


	18. NSFW Fanart for Chapter 8 by selfmadesuperhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at this fabulous fanart done by selfmadesuperhero for Chapter 8 (Gift With Purchase Remix Bonus Chapter). Just...nugh. Yes. Ahem. Anyway, for more fabulous art and info on commissions, go to selfmadesuperhero.tumblr.com. Fantastic artist to work with. Highly recommend.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/kyw)


	19. Gift With Purchase Remix Bonus Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started this as the Thank You Fic for the prompt request for something from the Gift With Purchase Remix story and then abandoned it to go a different direction, which ended up as the Bonus chapter that is already posted. For whatever reason, I decided to finish this the other night. So, here you go. Angst-rimming. Its a thing.

Steve felt the impact of the punching bag against his knuckles echo up his arm and across his shoulder in a large arc of pain. His other hand  was already a blur of motion as it, too, hit the side of the bag, sending it reeling as he pulled his elbow back to his side, fists up, bare feet braced apart on the mat. 

It felt good, the familiar _thunk_ of the hard sand inside the bag, the rough scrape of the tape over his knuckles inside the gloves, the brief spike of pain that threaded through his muscles as he moved.  It had been a long time since he’d done this, since the school gym in New York, really, but his body hadn’t quite forgotten the rhythm, one after the other after the other, the blows already swinging before the feeling from them vibrated up his arm.  It hurt, but that somehow felt better than not hurting, than feeling the same sort of numb nothingness that he’d felt since he left the facility this afternoon. 

Sign here, please.

 _Thunk_.

Just a reflex reaction, Mr. Rogers.  Best not to read anything into it.

Intercranial pressure monitor.  _Thunk_.  Non-convulsive seizures.  _Thunk_.  Decompressive Crainiectomy.  _Thunk_.  PEG tube.  _Thunk_.  Do not resuscitate.  _Thunk_.

Sign here, please.

“Bag do something to you?” Tony asked from the doorway, startling him.  Steve’s head swiveled around so fast he felt a wash of dizziness for a moment, and reached out to rest a glove against the swinging bag, as much to have something to touch as to stop its motion.  Tony was leaning against the doorframe, looking like he had just come from a meeting or something that required the wearing of a suit instead of the usual hard rock t-shirt and jeans he favored around the workshop.  It looked good on him, Steve couldn’t help but notice, though it jarred him for some reason. 

Then he realized he hadn’t seen Tony in a suit since that first night, when he’d been so nervous he’d barely been able to string words together, let alone appreciate anything about how Tony looked. There was a strange, fleeting expression of almost fondness that floated across Tony’s face, lost before it ever actually settled there, and Steve wondered, not for the first time, how Tony remembered that first night, when he’d brought Steve home and asked for only what Steve chose to give.

Tony did look good, Steve acknowledged, eyes flicking up and down where Tony sprawled against the edge of the door, not quite in or out of the gym. Of course he did, draped in a few thousand dollars worth of custom suit, but he also looked different in a way that sent a fissure of disquiet down Steve’s spine, settling like a stone in his stomach. He didn’t like it, Steve realized with a sharp pang, this reminder that Tony was a client, that there was some vast gulf of difference between them that had a lot of zeroes behind it. 

Steve thought of the line of suits that hung in his own closet now, courtesy of Tony, gifts that were hard to see as anything other than payment for services rendered, he thought, then immediately regretted it, though whether the regret was because it wasn’t fair to Tony or because it was too close to being true, he wasn’t sure.

 “Sorry,” Steve said automatically, though he wasn’t sure why the apology.  He wasn’t doing anything wrong, though everything felt wrong, like he’d broken some rule and no one would tell him what it was he’d done. The apology seemed to throw Tony off, as well, his dark brows drawing together in a frown. 

“We could put the bag in time out,” Tony suggested, trying for joviality, but Steve could hear the uncertainty in his voice.  He had his hands shoved in his pockets, legs crossed at the ankle where he leaned against the doorframe, like he was trying too hard for nonchalance. Tony did that a lot, Steve knew. Threw up these affectations like armor when he was uncomfortable, though Steve didn’t fully understand why or why Tony spent so much of his time trying to be someone he clearly barely even liked.  Tony was…Tony was so _much_ sometimes, it was like he spent half his energy trying to contain himself, and even Steve could see the strain splintering at the edges.  He wondered if that was why he was here.  Tony could be anyone he wanted with Steve without any worry of rejection.  That was true, Steve admitted easily to himself.  It had been true for awhile now.  It had just stopped being because of the money a long time ago. 

“It’s fine,” Steve murmured, bringing one of the gloves to his teeth and tugging at the laces.  “I’m done.” 

“You don’t have to stop,” Tony said.  “Not because of–I—I’m early.  I wasn’t going to bother you.  I told you to use the gym anytime you wanted.  Happy said,” Tony stopped, clearing his throat.  “Happy said you’d been down here awhile.”  

Steve tugged the first glove off and then made short work of the other, tossing them to the side.  He could feel his workout clothes sticking to his skin, sweat trickling down his neck.  He suddenly felt strangely exposed, which was ridiculous, considering, but there was a bright flare of annoyed anger hiding behind the feeling, partially directed at himself, partially looking for a target more satisfying than the punching bag.  For a flash of a moment, he hated Tony,  hated that Tony was early, hated that he was glad of it, hated that he had to come here like this, hated that Tony paid him to do it, hated that he took it and hated that each time he left, he was thinking about the next time, the next night, the next moment when Tony would make him feel, and it wouldn’t be pain, but sometimes it was so close to perfect that it almost felt like the same thing, and he knew that didn’t make any sense, but what in this did?

“I’m done,” Steve said again, the words coming out flat and tired sounding, and he saw Tony flinch.   Steve let out a long, deep huff of air, and looked down at his feet where his toes dug into the blue mat.  He was in Tony’s house, using Tony’s gym, wearing clothes Tony had bought him and lashing out because Tony kept giving him things he didn’t want to need.  Truth was, he was using Tony just as much as Tony was using him and being pissed at Tony about circumstances beyond his control was not only unfair but using Tony in a way that Tony, of all people, didn’t deserve. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, but he meant it this time.   “It was just a rough morning.  Everything’s fine now.  Really.”

Steve turned before he could see Tony’s reaction and walked to the bench by the mirrored wall where his bag was sitting next to bottle of water.  He didn’t want to see concern on Tony’s face. For some reason, he just couldn’t look at that right now.  It isn’t the hard blow that breaks you, he thought, as he sat down and grabbed the water bottle.  It’s the soft touch, he thought.  That’s the one that gets you.  He could almost feel it, skimming over his skin, feather-light and heavier than anything on earth.  He couldn’t handle that right now.  Not from Tony.  It was too close to what he wanted to be so damn far from what he could have. 

Steve ran a thumb up and down over the ridges of the bottle and across the plastic label.  It was the same kind they had at the facility, in one of those big jugs on top of the dispenser with the cone-shaped paper cups next to it.  Cone-shaped, so you couldn’t set it down somewhere.   Wouldn’t want to get rings on the tabletop or leave the place looking a mess, he supposed.   Had to keep up appearances.   

“Steve,” Tony said, low and rough.  Steve looked up and saw Tony had moved from the doorway to the edge of the mat, watching him in the intense way Tony did sometimes, like he if he could, he would pull Steve apart and figure out what was wrong.  Steve supposed if anyone could, it would be Tony.  “Is everything okay?”

He wanted to tell him.  In that moment, dear God, he wanted to tell him so badly.  Whatever wall he’d built between Tony and the rest of his life had never seemed thinner for that one, quick breath, scraped down to nearly nothing, Ms. Romanov’s admonitions be damned.  _Sign here, please._ Steve could feel the words building up in the back of his throat, his eyes prickling against the tide of them.   He looked down and saw his right hand curled into a fist around a pen that wasn’t there, but he could see the scrawl of ink in his head, and he didn’t want to, didn’t want to close his eyes and see that, so he opened them and looked up at Tony.  Steve put the bottle of water back in his bag and stood up from the bench, facing Tony, keeping his gaze locked on Tony’s dark, wide eyes as he shrugged his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, then pushed his pants and boxers down past his hips, kicking them out of the way as they puddled at his feet. 

Steve heard Tony’s sharp intake of breath, his own chest tightening as if pulled by the sound.  Tony was watching him, eyes sharp, body poised off the doorframe like he was suspended halfway through a motion. They’d been here before, Steve thought, the memory of standing in the living room while Tony looked at him flashing through his mind again, though it felt vastly different this time.  This time, it was him asking Tony, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking for, just that Tony would give it, and that was enough. 

“Steve,” Tony breathed out, swaying forward slightly.   Tony’s eyes were blown wide, dark pools of want flicking up and down over him, heating Steve’s skin like wisps of fire.   “Are you—do you—“ Tony stammered, then closed his mouth, one hand scrubbing over his face, like he could wipe away the words.  “God, you’re beautiful,” Tony rasped out, then seemed surprised by the sound of his voice, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

“You don’t—we don’t have to,” Tony husked out, studying Steve intently for a moment, eyes narrowed, then dropped his gaze, like he had been expecting to find something in Steve’s expression, but didn’t quite want to see it.  Tony’s looked down and away, eyes skittering across the floor as he shifted back and forth on his feet, then his gaze seemed to drag back to Steve of its own accord.  Tony’s eyes were heavy-lidded and filled with a desolate sort of hope that might have been nothing more than Steve’s own reflection, except that it shifted to something harder, needier, a flash of hunger and lust glittering behind Tony’s dark eyes that sent a spike of heat through Steve’s chest and making his stomach swoop and clench.  Steve could feel himself harden, and remembered the way Tony had looked at him that first night, the feeling it had given him, a sense of power in a world where he seemed to have so little of that.  It wasn’t power that thrummed through him now, not exactly.  Something else, far more potent, he thought. 

Steve wasn’t sure what he had wanted in the moments before.  A distraction.  A way out.  A way into something else.  Anything beyond the swirl of anger, fear and frustrated helplessness that seemed to fill his head anytime he opened his mind to the yawning maw of a future he didn’t want to face.  Now, looking at Tony, the he wanted something else.  He wanted Tony to see himself the way Steve could see him, if only for a little bit, or if only a little bit, the way you can only ever see the best version of yourself, parts and pieces and reflections of the whole, but never all at once.  Maybe he was using Tony, and maybe Tony was using him, but they were giving each other something, too, something maybe both of them had needed. 

Steve walked over to stand in front of Tony, his hands going to circle Tony’s waist, thumbs dipping below the waistband of Tony’s trousers to brush against the warm skin there.  Tony’s hands darted out, fluttering over Steve’s stomach, heat and pressure coiling and settling there only to seem to snake out to every part of him that Tony touched.  He was already half-hard, cock jerking forward like it was searching for Tony’s hand. 

“What do you want?” Tony husked out, voice rough as his hands scrabbled up and down over Steve’s arms and shoulders. 

“Put your hands on the mirror,” Steve said, nodding his head towards the mirrored wall behind him.  Tony looked askance at him, then at the wall, tongue darting out to coat his lips. 

“Ah,” Tony coughed, like his throat had gone dry.  “Are you—“ he swallowed, “Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” Steve replied, moving behind Tony.  Over Tony’s shoulder, he could see them standing together in the mirrored wall, Tony in his perfect suit, Steve naked and sweat-slicked behind him.  Tony’s eyes were wide, eyes glinting in the bright overhead lights as he caught Steve’s gaze.  “Trust me,” Steve said again, making it a request.  Tony held his gaze a beat longer, then dropped his eyes to the floor before moving forward.  When Tony stood in front of the mirror, his eyes found Steve’s again, something heated and determined moving behind them.  Tony mouth was parted slightly, breath coming in pants. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Steve’s eyes traced the movement in the mirror before catching Tony watching him in the glass. 

“I do trust you,” Tony said, bringing his hands up to place the palms on the mirror in front of him.  His voice was firm, but Steve could see the tremor that ran through him as he braced his hands on the cool panes of glass.  Steve wondered then if he’d stepped over some invisible line that only Tony could see.  He could stop this now, and they could go upstairs to Tony’s bed, and Tony could make him forget his own name.  There was something dangerous in this, something he couldn’t quite grasp, but he was certain that if he pulled back now, Tony would never give him the chance again.  They would go back to everything they’d been before, but this moment was going to pass, and both of them would have lost something Steve was just now beginning to glimpse. 

Steve moved behind where Tony stood, body slightly slanted towards the mirror.  Tony’s eyes were staring at the glass, but they were unfocused, mouth open as his breath came in low, shallow pants.   The fingers of one hand were curved, as if he could gain purchase against the smooth surface, the other pressed flat, so hard the flesh had gone white. 

Steve ran his hands up and down Tony’s arms, the muscles bunching under Tony’s suit jacket as he stroked.  He finally placed one of his own hands over each of Tony’s, splaying them out to cover Tony’s.  He leaned his head down to the curve of Tony’s neck, moving his mouth over the skin just below Tony’s ear, where the pulse jumped against his lips. 

“Steve,” Tony choked out, sucking in a gasping breath of air.  “What are you doing?” Tony asked with a groan.

“Look,” Steve said, lifting his eyes long enough to catch Tony’s confused gaze in the mirror.  “Look at yourself.  Look at how beautiful you are.  You’re amazing, Tony,” Steve continued, flattening his chest to Tony’s back.  “Do you feel how much I want you?  You haven’t even touched me yet.”

Tony blinked at him, then twisted his head to the side, tearing his gaze away from their reflection.  “You don’t have to do this,” he ground out.  “This–you don’t have to do this. That’s not what you’re…”

“Not what I’m here for?” Steve questioned, bringing one hand up to cup the side of Tony’s face that lay buried into his shoulder and gently nudging Tony’s head back until Tony was facing forward again.  “What am I here for then?” Steve murmured the words into Tony’s neck.  “What if I want to be here for this?”

“Steve,” Tony groaned, low and hollow, part plea, part warning.    His eyes were hard, something almost brutal in his gaze, watching Steve like he was trying to puzzle out one of his equation that wouldn’t cooperate. Steve wasn’t sure which one of them was closer to breaking apart, maybe both of them, but they held each other together in some way he could only begin to grasp, and this, this thing between them, had never seemed more fragile, like there was a precipice in front of him and he could step off and fall.  He might have already fallen.  Maybe that was the point.

“Shhh…” Steve admonished, warm breath ghosting over Tony’s skin.  He let his hands fall again to Tony’s waist, holding Tony’s hips steady against him.  His fingers skimmed over the waistband, finding the belt buckle and swiftly undoing it and the button underneath.  Tony’s hips jerked against his hand, and Steve pressed a flat hand to Tony’s stomach, stilling him, and heard Tony grunt.  Steve pulled the zipper down, the sound the only thing other than their mingled, rasping breaths to break the quiet.  Steve pushed the fly of Tony’s pants wide, then used both hands to tug them and the silk boxers down past Tony’s hips.  Tony’s cock, thick and heavy, jutted out as soon as it was freed, the tip edging against the mirror, leaving a streak where it dripped pre-cum onto the glass. 

Tony’s eyes were still on him, watching his movements in the mirror, hands curled into fists against the glass.  Steve knelt down, feeling the gym mat sink a bit beneath his weight, and tugged off Tony’s shoes and socks, then pulled Tony’s pants and boxers the rest of the way off of him until Tony was bared from the waist down.  He knew Tony was still uncomfortable about his chest, whatever wound he’d received in Afghanistan, so Steve didn’t push it.  He looked up, drinking in the sight before him.  There was something obscenely glorious about seeing Tony like this, about having put Tony like this, half-naked under the bright glare of the gym lights, smearing himself against the mirror as he waited for Steve. 

There was a fine sheen of perspiration across Tony’s brow.  His eyes were wide and so dark Steve could only see a ring of white around them.  Tony’s mouth was open as he breathed in long, shaky breaths, tongue darting out occasionally to wet his lips.  He looked utterly wrecked already, and it was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.  He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Tony’s hip, tasting the tang of sweat on skin there, then followed the taste around the curve of Tony’s hip, to the hollow where it met his thigh.  He breathed in the musky, heady scent of him, letting his hands roam up and down Tony’s thigh and over Tony’s ass to the ridge of Tony’s spine.  He heard Tony suck in short, hiccupping breaths, then a high-pitched, thready moan that he realized was coming from him splitting the silence.

One of Tony’s hands shot out and grabbed a fistful of Steve’s hair and pulled, hard, snapping Steve’s head back.  Steve looked up at Tony, waiting, keeping up the motion of his hands, more soothing now than anything.   Tony was looking down at him with a fierce, intent gaze, eyes searching Steve’s face.

“You’re here for me,” Tony whispered forcefully, the words clipped, almost brutal, belied by the way Tony’s hand gentled, scraping through Steve’s hair and down his cheek to cup his jaw.  Steve felt his own cock harden, the pressure liquefying in his belly, spreading a tight burst of half-pain through from his balls to the tip of his cock.  His whole body felt lit with some kind of cold-fire burning under his skin.  He wanted Tony, wanted to be with Tony, wanted everything, but most of all, wanted  Tony to know that he did, to believe it, even when he couldn’t say it.  Not yet.  “For me. Say it,” Tony hissed, voice cracking and breaking around the words, like the words themselves were painful. “Say it,” Tony whispered harshly, fingers pressing almost viciously into Steve’s jaw where he held him.

“I’m here for you,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady even as the words nearly choked him. He meant it.  God help him, he meant it, and he was going to get a fat envelope of cash from Romanoff, and he had never loathed anything more than himself right then, when he knelt here and told Tony how he felt and knew he was going to take the money.  “For you, Tony.” 

Tony gave a quick, jerky nod, then released his hand from Steve’s jaw and placed it back on the mirror in front of him, eyes locked now on his own reflection in the glass.  Steve pressed his mouth again to the line of bone that jutted against Tony’s hip tracing it over the curve, then going up on his knees to kiss a path along Tony’s lower back, hands coming up to cup the globes of Tony’s ass, massaging the supple skin. 

He heard Tony release a long, low shuddering breath that was part moan, and looked  in the mirror long enough to catch the bob of Tony’s throat as he tried to swallow.  There was a steady dribble leaking from Tony’s cock down the mirror, leaving a smear of fluid across the glass.  It was beautifully erotic, Steve thought, the evidence of how much Tony wanted him marking the glass.  Steve reached out and swiped a thumb through it, then brought it to his mouth, letting his tongue flick out to taste.

“Fu—fu—fuck, fuck, god, fuck—Steve,” Tony chanted, hips spasming against the glass.  Tony groaned at the sensation as the tip of his cock ran across the cool, smooth surface, unable to find the friction he was looking for. 

Steve looked up and caught Tony’s gaze in the glass, then brought his thumb up and sucked it into his mouth, releasing it with a wet pop when it was clean.  Tony’s head fell forward, his forehead banging against the glass with a soft thud. 

“If driving me to a heart attack is your plan, you should know that I haven’t changed the will yet,” Tony said tightly, eyes squeezed shut, palms fisting then releasing to flatten against the glass. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve replied, a grin forming.  “Look,” Steve said, nuzzling at Tony’s hip again.  “Look at yourself,” Steve insisted, turning his head to lay it against Tony’s hip. “You’re beautiful.  Your mind.  Your heart.  Your body.  All of you.  You’re beautiful, Tony.”

“Please,” Tony whispered brokenly, eyes blinking rapidly as he opened and closed his mouth.  Steve could feel Tony’s body stiffen under his hands, the muscles tensing all at once, like he was girding himself for a blow.  “Please.  Don’t.  I can’t—I want—just—don’t.  Please.  I can’t.” 

“Okay. Okay, Tony,” Steve soothed, punctuating each word with a soft kiss to the hollow curve of Tony’s back as he shifted behind him. 

“Steve—“ Tony started, then stuttered to a choked-off gasp as Steve cupped his bottom with both hands, lifted and spread him apart. 

“Shhh,” Steve said again, this time, the warm puff of air covering Tony’s exposed hole. 

“Jesusfuckingchrist,” Tony managed, his head tipping back until he was staring up at the blinding overhead lights, a deep, quaking moan torn from his throat.  Steve’s whole body thrummed with energy at the sound, his own cock a matching version of Tony’s, leaking fluid over his stomach and thighs and onto the mat beneath him.  There was something about having Tony like this that sent a heady surge of power and protectiveness through Steve. Tony and his tactile hands, always touching, making Steve feel alive, driving out everything else, his watchful eyes, seeing so much and not nearly enough, and here he was, hands immobile and eyes forced to watch only his own reactions.  Because he trusted Steve.  It was more than Steve should have, really, this faith that Tony placed in him, when he couldn’t fully return it, not yet.  He couldn’t take that chance.

 _Sign here, please_.

Steve leaned forward and breathed out a huff of air again, feeling Tony shiver even as his skin heated, glowing slick with sweat.  He darted out his tongue, flicking it over the ridged rim, then flattened it out, licking a long, wet stripe from just behind Tony’s balls up and over his hole.  Above him, Tony shouted a broken-off curse, his head falling forward to lull against the glass, cock hard and purpling where it pressed across the mirror.  Steve repeated the motion again, pressing harder against the soft, velvety flesh and continuing the motion until he reached the base of Tony’s spine, mouthing a kiss over the knob of bone there.

“Nguh,” Tony groaned. “Fuck, fuck, God, Steve, fuck, please, please,” Tony stammered, a senseless stream of words spilling from his mouth.

Steve lowered his head again and spread Tony apart with his hands. He waited a beat, until Tony’s body started to jerk and stutter, calf muscles bunching and contorting as he tried to keep still, then bent his head.  Steve let his mouth hover over Tony’s hole for a long moment, warming it with his breath, then dabbed at the puckered edge, poking and prodding while Tony moaned, low and long and broken, fractured by sharp, harsh, stuttering cries, and pushed back against Steve’s mouth. 

That was all the encouragement Steve needed. He used his hands to spread Tony further apart, so that his hole gaped slightly and pushed his tongue inside the ring of muscle, tracing the circle before he pushed deeper, licking the contours before thrusting his tongue in and out in sharp, insistent jabs.  He heard a loud bang and withdrew enough to look up and see that Tony had slammed a fist against the glass, thankfully not breaking it or his hand, but his head was hanging low between his shoulders, breath coming in short pants. 

Steve sank lower on his knees and let his tongue work the sensitive skin behind Tony’s balls, pushing into the thin layer with his mouth, then following with his fingers, massaging and pressing into the spot where he knew Tony could feel it deep inside.  Tony was mumbling something that might have been math, Steve wasn’t sure. Tony’s eyes were closed, lips barely moving as his fingers curled and unfurled, over and over, scrabbling for some kind of purchase that wasn’t to be found.  Steve continued kissing his way back to Tony’s hole, letting his mouth work at the rim, sucking lightly at the edge of muscle, then over the hole itself, tongue plunging deep again.  He kept two fingers pressed deep behind where Tony’s balls were pulled tight and heavy, massaging them deeply into the soft, sensitive skin there as his tongue stroked over Tony’s hole in rapid motions.  He withdrew his tongue and thrust with his fingers at the same time he sucked hard at Tony’s hole, tearing a cry from Tony’s throat that turned into a rough, garbled groan.

Tony started squirming against Steve’s hands and mouth, body contorting, shaking with effort, then stilling, only to repeat the cycle again. He was pushing back against Steve’s mouth, seeking more, mouth hanging open in a silent grimace.  Tony’s cock was full and red, the vein throbbing along the underside as it rammed against the glass, trapped between his stomach and the mirror, leaking long streaks of pre-cum in wide stripes across the glass.  Steve finally tore his eyes away from the sight and kissed the soft skin around Tony’s hole again, then scraped his teeth gently over the rim, just barely catching it. 

Steve heard Tony give a harsh, guttural cry, and before he could react, Tony was twisting around and sinking down in one, swift motion, hands twining in Steve’s hair and mouth finding his, nearly knocking Steve backwards with the force of it.  Tony’s tongue raked into Steve’s mouth, swiping deep, hard and insistent.  Steve heard the squeak of Tony’s hand across the mirror, but didn’t register the reason until one of Tony’s hands, slick with his own come, wrapped around Steve’s cock, pumping it in swift, practiced strokes.  Steve hadn’t realized how close he was, because it didn’t take long before his body stiffened, balls tightening as Tony’s hand twisted around his length, thumb tracing the pulsing vein on the underside and wrist flicking in sharp, quick motions around the head.  He shouted his cry of release into Tony’s mouth, spilling himself over Tony’s hand and stomach as his hips jerked spasmodically, riding out the crest of pleasure, body instinctively searching for more as he pumped into Tony’s hand. 

Tony’s tongue flicked over his mouth again, soft and sure, lips pressing lightly against his own, not a kiss, but not letting Steve go as he rocked through the last of his orgasm.  Tony murmured something into his mouth that was lost to the ringing in Steve’s ears, but he felt the cool air against his skin as Tony stood and went to a metal cabinet that stood against one wall.  Steve was still kneeling on the mat, covered in his own come and staring dazedly at the mess of a mirror when Tony returned.  Steve looked up at where Tony stood, cock still laying across the tails of his shirt, staining it with dark, wet streaks.   Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe offer, though he wasn’t even sure what exactly. His mind had gone comfortably blank. 

“Put your hands on the mirror,” Tony ordered, voice sounding like the scrape of nails on a blackboard, bringing Steve’s gaze to the sound of it.   Steve stared stupidly at him for a moment, trying to make the words make sense.  “Steve,” Tony said softly, running a hand through Steve’s hair and down his cheek, mimicking the motion he’d used earlier, gentler, but just as insistent.  “Put your hands on the mirror.  I’m going to fuck you against it, and then I’m going to take you to bed and—and—if you stay,” Tony stopped, looking down and away from where Steve knelt on shaking limbs.  Don’t say it, Steve thought, but the words to stop him wouldn’t come out. What could he say?  There was nothing to say. He’d already fallen, and he couldn’t stop until he hit bottom.  “If you stay, I’ll pay double,” Tony offered, dragging his gaze back to Steve’s. There was such desperate hope battling with the expectation of disappointment, something Steve knew all too well lately, that Steve didn’t need a mirror to see himself.

Steve dropped his gaze from Tony’s and moved forward on his knees. He braced his hands against the mirror, just below the splatters marking the glass.  Tony stood quietly where he was for a long pause, then moved forward, the gym mat squeaking under his feet. Steve felt Tony slide down behind him and heard the snick of the cap from the tube Tony had retrieved.  Steve half-expected it to be hard and fast, almost would have welcomed that, a pain he could deal with, could take, could take from Tony, but it wasn’t like that at all.  Tony’s hands on him were gentle, as they always were, and that hurt more, Steve thought, though it didn’t make any sense.  Soft and gentle and careful, skimming over him, mouth and hands, until it was almost too much.  

Tony's voice murmured words of praise against Steve's skin, and those somehow hurt more than any blow.  He wanted to tell him to stop to just do it, get it over with, but he knew how much that would hurt Tony to hear, and turning his own pain back onto Tony was the one thing, in all of this, that he could not bring himself to do. He pushed his cock against the cool glass as Tony’s fingers breached him, stretched him and worked him open until Steve thought he would come apart if Tony didn’t hold him together, and then the slow burning pressure of being filled, long, deep thrusts that made his body bow with pleasure. 

_I’ll pay double._

_Sign here, please._

He didn’t look at his reflection.  He’d signed, after all.


	20. Fanart for the Coda to A Higher Form of War by maxkennedy24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart done by maxkennedy24. Find more art and info about commissions at maxkennedy24.tumblr.com

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LHGI)


	21. Tony's POV for Ch 7 Hurt!Steve + Stuck in a Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For musicalluna, who wanted Tony's POV from Chapter 7 after he realizes what happened with Steve.
> 
> Please note that I have no medical knowledge and want to keep it that way. Can't even stand to watch Grey's Anatomy. I'm that squeamish. So, any medical stuff in here is from the quickest Google search I could possibly get away with doing and is likely largely inaccurate. Suspend disbelief for me, would you?

“Owowowow,” Tony muttered in vague annoyance as much as actual pain as Natasha helped him slowly sink onto one of the metal benches that lined the inner hull of the Quin-jet. 

“Careful. You’ll tear that open again,” Natasha warned, giving a quick glance over her shoulder to the open ramp.  Tony swiveled his head in the same direction, wincing as the sudden movement sent a stitch of pain through the side of his chest. 

“Never hear the end of it from Cap if I messed up his field dressing,” Tony replied, dropping his gaze to the dark red stain that spread over the front of his shirt.  Steve had made some kind of bandage for it out of what looked like part of his uniform and belt.  He studied the makeshift bandage for a moment, then huffed out a burst of air at the irony.  It was truly a tragedy that Steve had apparently ripped his uniform off only to patch Tony up with the scraps, and, to top it off, Tony couldn’t even remember it happening.   The universe was thinking up some truly creative ways to punish him.

He’d been out cold after they hit the ground or maybe a little before that, he couldn’t quite get the sequence of events to work in his head.  When he woke, they were in that shack however long it had been later---God, how long had it been?  Hours?  He couldn’t remember, and when he tried to dig up the shards of lost time, he managed to get flashes of red on a white so bright it made him almost glare-blind thinking about it, the sense of movement and accompanying nausea and a vague, dreamlike perception of hands cradling his head that came with a concordant sense of absolute security.  It all just gave him a giant headache, to be honest, like trying to focus on one of those stereograms you had to stare at until the image appeared.

Natasha ignored him and peeled the makeshift bandage off, though Tony shot her a disgruntled look for her effots.  Tony took the bandage from her hand without thinking about why, turning it over and staring at it, a fissure of unease run down his spine.  The underside was a deep, reddish brown where it had been pressed against his skin, and the thought of Steve’s hand holding it there slipped in like a rush of air, filling him all at once until he thought he might burst with the almost-pain of it.  He’d felt safe, despite the shitload of trouble they’d actually been in, all things considered, and that, well, hell, that was probably an answer to a question he wasn’t really ready to ask.  Love is a safe place to be, or some Oprah-esque bullshit, right?  He couldn’t even muster the urge to mock the triteness of it, not while he held part of Steve’s blood-soaked uniform in his hand.

The jet had been hit, Tony remembered that much. It had been in stealth mode, so that should have been impossible, but the bits and pieces of it strewn over the side of the mountain begged to differ. One minute, Steve had been standing behind where Tony sat in the pilot’s seat telling Tony with a completely straight face that Wanda seemed to have taken an interest in computer programming and asking if Tony had any books on the subject he could recommend, the sly, little shit with the aw-shucks, innocent routine down pat, and the next minute the jet was in pieces, and they were falling. 

It was all blurry in his head after that.  He’d gotten enough of the armor to him in time to grab Steve and use the one repulsor that made it out of the jet to avoid hitting the side of the mountain at something less than terminal velocity, but it had been close.  Too close, but his memory went black right around that time, until he woke up in that cabin, Steve hovering over him with an expression that told Tony he was clearly going to die, either from his wounds or Steve lecturing him to death for doing something stupid again.

Tony traced the jagged edge of leather where shreds of thread and material dangled haphazardly and realized with a jolt that Steve hadn’t had anything sharp to use.  He rubbed his thumb over it and thought of logs torn apart, a scrape of a shocked, vaguely embarrassed laugh escaping him.  Reading way too much into a little aggressive first aid there, Stark, he thought to himself, though a frown deepened his face as he ran his thumb over the torn piece of dark blue. 

Honestly, he should be far more hurt than he was.  One gash.  Not even that deep, according to Bruce, though the fucker stung like holy hell.  A few scrapes and bruises.  That…that didn’t seem quite right, he thought with a flicker of disquiet snaking through him.  He wasn’t even in that much pain, all things considered, though he supposed that could still be the morphine.  Finally managed to get Steve’s hands on his ass and it was to inject him with morphine, which he could use as an excuse for any actual feelings he might have revealed.  That was somehow incredibly fitting, Tony thought dully.

God, what had he said up there, Tony wondered, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair in a frustrated gesture.  Something about—fuck, coming back to the Avengers and, _Jesus Christ_ , inkwells and ponytails?  Damn Bruce and his stupid Little House on the Prairie analogies getting all in his head up in that cabin.  At least Steve had seemed to blame the drugs for most of it, Tony thought with a slight jerk of what was trying to be a laugh and failing miserably. 

“Try to lie down so I can strap you in. We’ll be wheels up as soon as they’re onboard,” Natasha urged, finishing up where she was poking his wound with a hot stick of salt or whatever the fuck she was doing that burned like hell. 

“What’s—ow!—stop that, God, you’re—hey, hey!  Seriously, you could have just asked me to move---what’s taking them so long?” Tony asked around a grimace as Natasha rearranged him on the bench until he was laying on his good side.  “Your beside manner leaves a lot to be desired, you know that right?  Steve was a far better nurse, I’m just saying.”

“I’ll bet,” Natasha agreed, almost humming the words.  He saw her look down the open ramp again and followed her gaze, but from his vantage could only see snow and dirt and the hint of sky above. 

“I was working my way up to a sponge bath when you and the Rescue Rangers showed up,” Tony mumbled.  “Honestly, if Bruce and Thor are playing doctor in there, I’m going back in, even if I have to crawl.  Friday!” Tony called out, craning his neck to look over her shoulder as Natasha turned her head to the side in what he assumed was disgust.  

“Yes, Boss?” the AI’s voice sounded in the jet, the lighter, feminine voice not as much of a shock as it once had been.  The wrongness of it had been lost over time, but what was left was an almost-rightness that would never quite get there.  He’d almost managed to make himself stop noticing.  Almost. 

“What’s our ETA to the Tower?” Tony asked.

“Five hours, Boss,” Friday answered. 

“We’ll get there faster,” Clint said from the cockpit where he was running through the pre-flight checklist, an oddly strained note to his voice.  Clint cast a look over his shoulder at Natasha, some understanding passing between them that caused Tony to roll his eyes. He’d given up trying to decode their Moose and Squirrel routine long ago, right around the time Clint’s merry band of mini-agents put in an appearance at the old McBarton Farm. 

The farm…Tony felt a flush of heat creep up his neck.  He couldn’t say that had been the beginning, not exactly.  He wasn’t sure if there had _been_ a beginning.  This thing with Steve, it felt like it had always been there and maybe it had, filling the dark places that would’ve been empty otherwise.  Instead, they were full of longing and jealousy, bitterness and hope, and something that met in the middle of all that, a steady, constant beat of if-only that hadn’t been dulled by the years between boyhood and now. 

But the farm had been some kind of turning point, when he’d been forced to acknowledge that he had seen his friends dead or dying, his world falling to destruction, but it had been Steve’s death that he had felt, that left him carved out and gutted and desperate enough to risk everything.  He hadn’t told Pepper.  Just Fury, really, and even that had been the barest sketch of what it had felt like.  What was there to say?  I saw the end of the world, and it looked a hell of a lot like losing him?  It would take a lot more than an apology farm to fix that.  Tony sighed and rested a hand over his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall back against the bulkhead.

Clint had given them his daughter’s room, probably on purpose.  She had a double bed covered in pink and white sheets with horses running across them and one of those nightlights that projected glowing greenish stars on the ceiling. Tony had unplugged it without a word.  Steve had graciously offered to take the floor, and Tony let him because he couldn’t come up with an objection that didn’t sound pathetic.  Then—then.  Then he’d woken up, shaking and soaked in sweat, body clenched in a rictus of muscles, panting for air.

_Tony!  Wake up!_

_Whatshappng?_

_Are you—are you okay?  You were dreaming.  You—you said my name._

_Sorry. Sorry.  Fuck.  Jesus-- I’m—I didn’t mean to wake you, Cap. It’s nothing._

_Didn’t seem like nothing.  Are you sure—_

_I’m fine.  Forget it._

_Here I thought I was a terrible liar.  You’re not fine.  None of us are fine.  And you—_

_I said I was fine, Rogers.  Don’t get your star-spangled panties in a twist.  Just a bad dream.  Not all of us can lie back and think of liberty._

_What’d she show you, Tony?  What was all this?  What scared you so badly you couldn’t argue me into it?_

_Everything I cared about was gone or about to be.  And I’d lost the chance to stop that from happening._

_That isn’t going to happen, Tony.  We’re going to stop him._

_Yeah, well.  We’re doing a real bang-up job so far.  You gonna pony-up, Cap?  What’d the little witch show you?  Something truly horrifying to your patriotism and basic decency, like Congress?_

_I think…I think maybe she showed me the same thing._

“In time for dinner then,” Tony said with a slight nod as he frowned at the pouch of electrolyte fluid Natasha shoved in his hand.   “Okay, now you’re just doing that on purpose,” he accused with a hiss when she pressed a clean bandage over his wound.  “Friday, have, let’s say…two of everything on Gianetti’s menu waiting when we get there.  A triple order of the manicotti and that goat cheese ravioli.  And whatever their dessert special is. Better make it four of those,” Tony said.  “What?  He’s got a sweet tooth.  Just guilts you into not eating the dessert so he can have it.  Hand to God, I saw him creating a flowchart of strategies to convince Clint not to eat the last of the birthday cake, and number one was ‘Fake food poisoning.’  He doesn’t’ mess around, I’ll give him that.”

“Tony—“ Natasha started, voice low, a hint of something like a warning in it. 

“Sorry,” Tony said quickly, waving a hand in the space between them.  “This evening’s revels are only for those whose last meal was reconstituted from a packet with the slightly overreaching label of ‘beef stew.”   As excuses went, it was a shitty one, he knew. _Would you like a side of ‘I Want Time With Steve’ with that, Boss?_ Friday’s voice echoed in his head.  _Why yes, yes I would, thank you very much_. 

It wasn’t a date, of course.  He knew that.  He really, really did.  First and foremost, because Steve didn’t consider it a date, so there was that hurdle.  It—it just had date-like qualities.  If you looked at it a certain way.    If you, you know, thought about it, at some length, say, while a couple of hundred pounds of super-soldier was wrapped around you, and you got to the hundred and forty-seventh digit of pi before you finally managed to not seem exceedingly happy about the taste of formerly-powdered stew.

Natasha was watching him, eyes wide, something like pity there, and he found himself looking away, out the ramp again, gaze flicking over anything but her.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know what she saw.  What Bruce saw.  Hell, they probably all did, except Steve, who remained blissfully unaware.  Steve’s ignorance managed to be something he was grateful for and frustrated by, never quite able to settle on which one to feel, so he just felt them both at the same time, which, admittedly, did not lead to his best decision-making when it came to Steve, but now they were having a not-date, and it was going to be the best Goddamned not-date that had ever been seen.  

Then, he would build Steve something, and maybe that would be the thing that tipped the scale.  You never knew. It could happen.  He could be one uniform upgrade away from getting what he wanted.  Best not to take the chance on missing out, so it clearly made sense to spend the next week or so holed up in his lab.  Yep.  Another brilliant plan from the resident genius.  It was all working out so well, he thought, as his face twisted into a grimace.  He raked his hand through his hair again, then patted it down, because…fuck, where were they anyway, he wondered, peering around Natasha at the ramp again.

“Look, it’s just—he—Steve—he took care of me, you know?  I may have given him a bit of a hard time about it.  Not the best patient, here.  You may be familiar with that particular personality quirk,” Tony acknowledged when she rolled her eyes.  “So, he gets some ravioli, okay?  It’s not metaphorical ravioli, for Christ’s sake.  Hell, I bought you donuts that time you stabbed me in the neck. It’s a thing,” Tony grumbled.  “Don’t look at me like that,” he protested as her gaze went hard and knowing. 

“Tony, Steve—“ Natasha began again, then her head jerked to the side as heavy footsteps thudded against the metal loading ramp.  Tony bent at the waist and pushed himself up enough to see over her shoulder, one hand clutching at the slash that split his chest.  He winced at the movement as the skin tugged, the dull ache that had settled there turning into a sharp sting of pain, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, he knew that much.  Thanks to Steve, and damn if that didn’t send a flood of warmth through his chest, wrapping itself around the wound like a sponge.  Steve would have done the same for any of them, Tony’s mind supplied, less than helpfully.  But he hadn’t.  He’d done it for Tony, and that, Tony thought with a grimace, well.  Damned if that didn’t have the annoying by-product of making all these feelings bubble far too close to the surface. 

There was a clamor at the back of the jet, the heavy thudding clank of boots on the ramp, and Tony’s head swiveled around fast enough he felt a moment of disorientation as his vision caught up with the movement.

 “You all stop for snacks or---or---“ Tony stuttered to an abrupt halt as his gaze snapped to the scene filling the back of the jet.

The world tilted on its axis, blurred, then formed into almost too-sharp relief, everything crashing into him at once, but none of it made sense.  It was there, in front of him.  He could see it.  Right there.  But his mind couldn’t make any sense of it.  His vision blacked for a moment, everything seemed to dissolve, then reform.   When it did, it was wrong, distant somehow, like he was above it, not fully present, watching it happen through a long lens. 

He could see them, the way Steve’s blonde head hung listlessly in Thor’s arms, hear it, in the heavy echo of Thor’s steps on the jet’s ramp as he carried Steve inside the jet, but there was an unreality to it, like his mind couldn’t process what he was seeing fast enough.  Bruce was barking orders that registered only as background noise behind the ringing in his ears, one hand squeezing at a plastic bag that seemed to cover Steve’s nose and mouth.  Natasha was asking quick, rapid-fire questions and grabbing various things from their medical supplies, but it was all happening out there, in some other place, because it couldn’t quite gain purchase in his mind, which just kept repeating the same mantra over and over. 

_This isn’t happening.  This isn’t happening.  This isn’t happening._

He wanted to scream it out at them.  He could feel the words burn through his chest, making it expand until he felt ready to burst with them, but he couldn’t get them out because this wasn’t happening.  It was like his ability to form words had been sucked out along with all the air in the room, and he was choking on words that wouldn’t come.  The words wouldn’t get out of him, and he needed them out of him, so that they would know, so this would stop.  This was some kind of terrible joke or a dream he couldn’t wake up from or something—something--anything, because this could not be happening.

 “Get him on the table!” Bruce shouted, point towards the medical table near the center of the jet.   “Thor, on his side.  On his side. Careful, careful.  Nat, I need—God—I don’t know—I’m not—shit,” Bruce said, running both hands through his hair, gripping huge chunks of it tightly in his hands.  “I’m not this kind of doctor.  I’m a biochemist for fuck’s sake.

“The serum…” Clint said nervously as he stacked bags of plasma and fluids from the cooler on the table next to Steve. Exactly, thank you, Clint, Tony mentally shouted.  The serum. This is nothing the serum can’t handle. “He’ll be okay, right?  I mean, this—this isn’t---” Clint trailed off, because no one was correcting him like they should be doing.  Someone should be correcting him.  Steve was going to be fine. The serum would fix this. 

Someone really needed to say that.  He needed someone to say that, but no one did, and the God-damn silence was the worst sound Tony had ever heard.

“It—he’s lost a lot of blood,” Bruce said carefully.  Too carefully.  It was the caution, that beat of hesitation that burned a crater through Tony’s gut. In that second, he thought he might hate Bruce.  Really and truly hate him and his willingness to give in so damn quickly. Tony wanted to rage at him, demand he stop being so fucking careful and just say it.  Say Steve was going to be fine. 

_Someone please say it.  Please._

“Tell us what to do,” Natasha replied, as calm as any of them, though her voice quavered, and maybe it was that, the fissure in her armor that broke through whatever it was clawing itself around Tony like a vice, holding him in place, holding him together, keeping what he was seeing at some kind of distance that his mind could allow.  “Bruce.  You have to tell us what to do here.”

“I know!  I know!” Bruce shouted, gripping the side of his hair with one hand while the other kept up compressions on the ventilation bag.  “Okay.  Um--IV kit.  Give me the blood bags.  And, ah, fluids…you’ve got them.  Okay, good.  Clint, get us in the air,” Bruce yelled over his shoulder as he started cutting off Steve’s uniform and pulling clear plastic tubing from a bag.  There was a needle in his right hand, and Natasha was plugging one end of the tube into the bag of blood. 

“On it,” Clint called back in response. 

“How many of these are his?” Bruce asked, holding up one of the bright red bags of fluid from the table.

“We all did three per person,” Natasha replied. She had a plastic tourniquet binding Steve’s upper arm just above where Bruce was probing at the veins that webbed beneath Steve’s skin.  “He hasn’t needed any.”

“That’s not going to be enough,”  Bruce said. “Someone take this,” Bruce ordered, handing off the compression bag to Natasha as he threaded the needle into the vein in Steve’s arm.  “Who’s got O neg?” he asked, looking around.  “Tony, you’re the only O-neg, right?”

“I--what—what???  No—yes---no—this—he was fine!” Tony heard himself nearly shouting, though his voice came out raw and hoarse.  He knew he shouldn’t be yelling, but it was like he was at the end of a tunnel, his voice sounding tinny and hollow.  Everyone was moving too slowly, too calmly, asking questions and making decisions, making this real, and he wanted to tell them to hurry and to do more and to stop and wait because this wasn’t right.  It was all jumbled in his head, and nothing made sense, because they were supposed to have ravioli.  He’d already ordered it.  And dessert. Steve had a sweet tooth.  It wasn’t a date, but—

“Tony!” Bruce shouted, breaking his reverie.

“He—he was fine,” Tony repeated, looking around dumbly as Thor placed Steve carefully on his side on the medical table.  There was some kind of tube coming out of Steve’s mouth connected to a bag that Bruce was slowly squeezing in and out.  “This isn’t happening.”  He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until he heard Natasha reply.

“Tony, no,” Natasha ordered, slamming something long and slivery metal on the medical table.  “Stop it.  Panic later.  Help or sit down.”

Tony just stared at her numbly, then his eyes went back to Steve laying on the table, not moving.  One hand hung limply over the side and there was blood dripping from it, a slow,  thin stream of red running onto the floor of the jet.

_Come on, Cap, you’ve got blood all over your uniform._

It took Tony a long beat of staring at Natasha’s hand where it rhythmically compressed the bag to realize, to understand or to let the understanding sink in, anyway.  Natasha was breathing for him.  Natasha was breathing for Steve. Steve wasn’t breathing.  These were facts that flowed through Tony’s head, but it was like they had nothing of truth connected to them.  It just was.  Those things existed.  It was right there in front of him.  But for the space of time it took Bruce toget the needle into Steve’s vein and Clint to get the engines going, Tony’s mind went completely blank. 

This was happening.

It was like being punched in the gut when the realization hit.  The world slanted, grew hazy, voices dulling to a distant echo, and there was a darkness creeping into the edges of his vision.   He tried to suck in a breath, but it was like his body had forgotten the process for doing so.  How could he breathe when Steve wasn’t?  When Steve wasn’t breathing? 

Steve wasn’t breathing. 

Steve wasn’t breathing, and Steve was bleeding, even now, hours since the crash, even with the serum, and none of this could be happening because they’d joked, and Tony had teased, and Steve had made him a bandage and gotten that stupid little fire going somehow, and they’d played twenty questions and Tony hadn’t thought to ask if Steve was dying and they were having the ravioli Steve liked, so none of this could be happening. 

It was like a tether being cut, leaving him flailing for purchase and finding only air beneath him.  He was reaching for something that wasn’t there, some way that this wasn’t happening, but there was nothing left to grab onto.

“Don’t, Tony,” Natasha told him, gentler now, the pity that he’d heard earlier was back, and he looked down, almost surprised to see that he was standing next to where Steve lay on the medical table, one hand reaching for the bag she was pumping.  He pulled his hand back into his chest, recoiling from the scene in front of him, like if he didn’t touch it, it would be less real somehow.  It could still be taken back.  He could wake up.  Someone could shout, ‘Gotcha!’ and they could all laugh.  Anything. Anything, but this.

“Move,” Bruce snapped.  “Tony, move out of the way.  Clint, get us home.”  Tony stared at him, blinking slowly, before stepping back.  He could almost feel a physical strain, pulling himself away, but there was a strange relief in having someone tell him what to do because he had no idea what to do with something that wasn’t supposed to be happening.

““Wind’s bad up here. Gonna be bumpy,” Clint warned from the pilot’s seat as he hit the buttons to initiate the take-off sequence.  No one moved from their positions, though everyone braced themselves and grabbed for a handhold. 

Tony felt the vibrations shake through the jet as it took off.  He grabbed onto the side of the medical table, leaning a hip against it for balance. Bruce was holding onto the IV pole where the bags and lines shook against it.  Over the roar of the engines, he couldn’t hear the steady susurrations of Natasha pumping air into Steve’s lungs.  He had to watch her hand instead.  In and out.  He could see her mouth moving slightly as she counted between ventilations.  Bruce reached down and adjusted Steve’s head again, trying to keep the airway at the proper angle, and shifted the mask that covered Steve’s nose and mouth, which had jostled loose on the ascent. 

“As soon as we’re clear of this, get him on the automatic transport ventilator,” Bruce said, with a nod towards Natasha.  “Tony, we’re going to need your bags.”  Tony stared at him stupidly for a beat, wondering what was in his bags that they might need, before it hit him that Bruce meant they needed his blood.  They needed his blood to give Steve because the amount of Steve’s blood they had onboard wasn’t enough, even though they’d all banked enough for a worse-case scenario at Bruce’s insistence. 

Tony nodded jerkily and walked over to the refrigerated storage unit on unsteady legs, though the floor beneath him had stopped shimmying as Clint leveled the jet out.  He punched in his code and leaned forward for the retinal scan.  Unless you lived on the Hellmouth, probably a bit more than your standard bloodbank security, but Tony had designed the system himself.  You didn’t just leave Steve’s blood sitting in the cooler, after all.  Steve’s blood, he thought, dully, looking over his shoulder at the pool of red under the medical table.  Someone had stepped in it where it puddled beneath the medical table.  There was a bloody shoe print off to one side, and another lighter one next to it. 

Tony pulled one of the bags of his own blood out, held it for a moment, then grabbed for the others.  He remembered putting them in here with Bruce, going over the security protocols while Bruce checked to make sure they were stored properly.  He’d looked down at the bright, red bag and thought that of all the things his old man had smuggled out of Europe during the war, that vial of Steve’s blood had been the thing he cared about the most and the thing that had belonged to him the least.  And now it was leaking onto the floor like waste.  Someone would have to clean that up.  He looked over at the shoeprint again.

Someone really needed to clean that up.

The wrongness of it, the incomprehensible wrongness of the whole thing, soured his stomach, making it roil and turn over.  He looked up and stared at the blank metal of the jet’s hull in front of him, one hand gripping the bags of blood while he tried to make some sense of something that refused to compute.  404 Error, he thought, with an edge of hysteria.  There was a low ringing in his ears.  He could hear it, drowning out the voices behind him, saying things he didn’t want to know.  He forced a deep, shaking breath into his lungs, and braced a hand against the side of the jet above his head, letting his weight lean into it for a moment.  

He knew he should be dealing with this better.  He’d seen it before, after all.  Of course, that had led to a murder-bot with a God complex.  How that vision had ever frightened him seemed impossible to understand now, faced with the in living color version.  This was a thousand times worse.  That had been the end of the world, but this was the world falling apart, tearing at the seams, piece by piece.  That had been a fight.  This…this was a prayer, a plea coursing through his veins, asking something he didn’t believe in to intercede when he had nothing of any value to offer in trade.  It was the powerlessness of it, he realized, the utter helplessness, that left him reeling.  He held the only things he could offer that might help in his hands, the basest part of himself that had no business standing between Steve and death. 

Steve was not going to die.  He just wasn’t. 

It had the feeling of a decision, like he was making a choice and marking it with some kind of invisible mental line, though he knew, objectively, that he was virtually powerless to control the outcome here.  But, telling himself that was enough to drag his eyes back open and let him breathe without thinking through each of the steps involved, so that was something.  

Tony turned around and saw that Natasha had the ATV hooked up.  It was making a beeping noise as it compressed air into Steve’s lungs.  Bruce was working to get Steve’s uniform off, carefully cutting away where the material had been…oh God. 

Oh God. 

No. 

_No._

It had been burned into his skin.  Melted through into a deep swath of Steve’s side that was just…gone. 

“Tony,” Bruce said gently.  “Don’t…this isn’t as bad as it looks.  The repulsor actually cauterized most of the wound.  This isn’t the problem.  I mean, it’s not good, but—ah,” he cut himself off at Natasha’s sharp, annoyed look.  “Um, he’s got a puncture through his back. That’s where the blood loss is coming from, and I think it might have nicked the liver.  Maybe the spleen, too, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything to do with you.  Something either from the explosion or on impact, I don’t know.”

“Bruce,” Tony breathed out.  His voice was shaking.  He was shaking.  Everything was moving, and his eyes couldn’t quite keep up with it, like he was a second behind every time he tried to focus on anything.  “I—“

“He said you saved him,” Bruce continued. 

Tony stared at Bruce a beat, then promptly burst out laughing.  It was truly a terrible habit, he knew.  But it was just…this was too much.  How was he supposed to process this?  Steve was bleeding out, needed a machine to breath for him for Christ’s sake, and Tony had spent the past few hours playing for attention and planning not-date nights.  “Saved him?  Saved him.  Yeah.  Yeah, I did great,” Tony husked out.  “Here,” he said, handing the bags of blood to Natasha.  “Does he need more?  I can give some.  I can—I should—in case.  In case he needs it.”

“That’d be good, Tony,” Bruce said.  “That would help.  But, first, get Dr. Cho and an emergency medical team to meet us at the Tower.  I’m going to do my best to stabilize him, but he needs…he’s going to need more.”

“The Captain is strong.  This magical potion that runs in his veins…it will help, yes?” Thor asked, looking around at all of them in turn.  No one answered.  It was the quietest silence Tony had ever heard, the kind that is waiting for someone to speak and say what no one wants to say.  He wanted to shout into the quiet, roar out his pain and fear and anger, throw things for good measure, make some God-damned noise, anything that would break the silence that seemed to echo with too much of what wasn’t being said.

He got on the comm instead, and radioed ahead to make arrangements with Dr. Cho and to have their on-call medical team meet them.  It took awhile, with Natasha relaying vital signs and other information so the teams could have something to go on.  Cho was inconveniently located in Seoul, and even on one of Tony’s jets, it would be too many hours before she could arrive with the new prototype cradle, though she promised to leave immediately.  SHIELD had once had protocols for this, for a—he mentally stumbled.  For a downed Avenger.  Damn.  _Damn_.  Keep it together, Tony admonished himself harshly.  Granted, at this point, he wouldn’t trust them within ten miles of Steve, but there could be something out there.  Some contingency plan.  Something. 

Pulling together Cho and the trauma team had given him something to do, at least temporarily.  Now, he sat and watched Bruce detach an empty blood bag from the IV and hook a full one up to it.  One of Tony’s.  He watched the IV line light up red as it threaded through it, down into Steve’s vein.  His blood was going into Steve’s body, which was…he didn’t know what it was.  Wrong.  It was wrong.  The whole thing was wrong, but he loathed the sight of that for some reason.  He didn’t really want to think about why it bothered him so much.  This…this offering…this was all he could do.  Pump out a few pints of O-neg and have some orange juice.  He could create an artificial intelligence or build a miniaturized arc reactor in a cave, but he could never seem to save the people who mattered, no matter how hard he tried.  He just ended up saving himself.  He got to live.

He always got to live.  Living just felt a lot fucking like being left behind. 

He took the sponge Natasha handed him and squeezed as she tightened the strip of flexible plastic around his upper arm.  “You okay there, Shellhead?” she asked softly.  “Sure you’re up for this?”  Tony just looked at her dully and ignored the question, though he supposed that was answer enough.  “Okay, then,” she said quickly, bending her head to her task.   Tony felt the bite of the needle slide into his arm, and fisted his hand.  

“I can do more,” Tony said after what was both interminably long and far too quick.  She slid the needle out and capped the bag, still warm with his blood.  “Come on,” he said, tapping his knuckles on his knee. 

“You’re hurt, and you haven’t eaten properly. You need fluids and to lie down,” Natasha insisted. 

“I had beef stew,” Tony spat out bitterly.  “And I slept like a baby.  Because he—he—“  he stuttered, choking back the sound that kept wanting to escape his throat.  He could hear the slurriness of his words and grimaced, waving a hand at where Steve lay on the table instead.  Bruce was bent over him, doing God only knew what, though it looked to Tony like most of it involved staring at various readouts and frowning indecisively. 

“I know,” Natasha replied, running a soothing hand through the top of Tony’s hair.  “You’re no help to him if you pass out, Tony.”

“Not sure that’s the line of demarcation.  I don’t get it. Why?  Why would he—I don’t get it.  He was hurt, and I was being an ass because I had his attention and can’t seem to stop myself from acting like I’m six and need to poke him on the playground and run away—that’s what Bruce says, anyway.  God, cheap tricks and cheesy one liners, right?  I mean, that’s it.  That’s me.  That’s what I—I can’t seem to stop myself.  Not around him.  I want to, and then I can’t, and now.  Now,” Tony nodded, bobbing his head forcefully like the motion could keep him from shattering.  “But he…he took care of me and talked to me and joked and gave me the fucking medicine and food, and I don’t understand _why_.  Why?  Tell me why,” Tony pleaded, the last coming out in one long, shaky breath.  “Please.  Please tell me why.  I need…I need someone to tell me why.  I need something here to make sense because none of this—none of this makes any fucking sense!” 

Across the interior of the jet, he could see Bruce peer up at him from under his glasses.  Tony realized he’d been steadily raising his voice, but was spread too thin to care.  Thor was still standing beside Steve, watching the machine that was breathing for him with something like horror.  Right there with you, big guy, Tony thought harshly.  This was happening, and none of it made any sense, and someone really needed to clean up that blood.  It was Steve’s and it was—it _mattered_.  He was starting to truly, deeply hate seeing it there on the floor of the jet, smeared by too many footsteps.

“I know,” she repeated, gentler this time, with something like sadness etching across her face as he caught her gaze again.   She pushed herself off the bench and braced a hand on the bulkhead that jutted out over Tony’s head.  “He likes it, by the way. When you poke at him,” she said, giving Tony a measuring look.

“I feel like I should make a remark here, but literally nothing is coming to mind,” Tony grumbled with a pent-up sigh, letting his head fall back against the side of the jet in resignation.  It made a dull, thudding noise and left him with a bright burst of pain at the base of his skull that somehow felt good.  He wanted to do it again and keep doing it until maybe things made sense, but he forced himself to still. 

“He met up with Barnes at the Stark Expo, did you know that?  Just before Barnes shipped out.  Barnes had gotten a couple of girls, dames Steve called them.  He slips, sometimes.  When he’s remembering.  The one that was there for him, she was so disappointed.  You can imagine, right?  Ninety pounds of spit and piss and nothing else to his name.  Wouldn’t give him the time of day, not with Barnes around and Howard Stark up on stage with his flying car,” Natasha continued.

“Hope the idiot got the clap, but so what?” Tony asked.

“You’re not the only one who learned he was a disappointment, Tony,” she said cryptically.  She left him there then, and took the bag of donated blood over to Bruce, who hooked it on the IV stand for later.  Tony tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea hit, and he closed his eyes against the darkness creeping into the periphery of his vision. 

“What’s—“ Tony started, then cleared his throat when the word came out ragged.  “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re more alike than either of you want to admit.  It means that he’s going to give you the best chance to survive because he’s a good guy, and you’re his teammate. It means he’s going to joke with you and distract you and keep you warm for the same reason you keep finding things wrong with every apartment in Brooklyn he looks at, trying to build him things he might like and helping him find Barnes, even when he is probably literally the last person you want to welcome back into Steve’s life,” Natasha told him. 

“How much blood did you take because none of that makes the slightest bit of sense,” Tony muttered, swiping a hand across his face. 

“It’s actually the only thing about this that makes complete sense.  Might surprise you what you see if you stop trying to not watch him die long enough to see anything else,” Natasha offered with a shrug of her shoulders, her eyes flicking to his, then sliding across the jet to where Bruce and Thor hovered over Steve.  “He’s stable.  Ish.  You can sit with him, if you want.”  She said it like there was some question to it, but Tony was in motion fast enough that the sound of the words followed him across the interior of the jet. 

Steve was partially elevated on the medical table, lines and wires winding in and out of him like an elaborate web, telling the monitors how close to alive he was.  He was pale, but not the usual kind.  It was more the absence of color, an almost translucency that made the blue veins under his skin seem all the brighter.  The blood loss, of course. 

“How is he?” Tony asked, immediately hating the way his voice sounded.  Hesitant and forced, like he was trying to speak a different language, and maybe he was, at that.  One he still couldn’t comprehend, or didn’t want to. Same difference, he supposed. 

“Stable. For now,” Bruce responded carefully, not taking his eyes off Steve, as if saying it out loud could jinx it.  “Everything arranged with the medical team and Dr. Cho?”

“She’s in Seoul,” Tony replied, and saw Bruce’s face drop.  “She’s already on one of the jets with the prototype cradle, but it will take awhile. Medical team will meet us there.” 

“Good,” Bruce said.  “Tony…look, none of this was your fault.  Whatever happened, it happened when the jet blew.  He got winged with the repulsor, but that actually may have helped keep the blood loss from being worse.”

“Why didn’t he—God, Bruce, I just lay there!  I could’ve done something!  I could’ve helped—patched him up--something!  Why didn’t he tell me?”  Tony asked bleakly, gripping his hands around the rounded edges of the medical table. 

“Honestly, the burn probably hurt so badly, he didn’t even realize the other was even there.  He didn’t want to pull the uniform off and take a chunk of skin with it, which is smart, but that kept him from realizing how much blood he was still losing,” Bruce replied.  “The body does strange things when it is dealing with trauma.  And we have no idea how the serum affects things, not really.  It could shut down pain receptors so he could keep functioning, who knows?  They did some tests after Rebirth, but nothing that would prepare us for this.  No—don’t look at me like that, Tony.  We’re in science fiction land, here.  You want to be mad at someone, be mad at the people who shot down your jet, not me because I don’t have the answers you want to hear.”

“I’m not pissed at you,” Tony protested.

“Yeah.  You are.  You want someone to fix this.  I get that, Tony.  I wish to God it was that simple, but it isn’t,” Bruce argued, voice going tight and brittle.  “It just isn’t, Tony.  This is a risk we all—“

_Is this the first time you’ve lost a soldier?_

“Don’t!” Tony shouted, banging a fist against the metal table so hard the instruments on the nearby tray clattered and clanked.  “Don’t start rationalizing this.”

“Stark.  We all share your concern for our Captain,” Thor said, low and calm, but with a hint of warning behind it. 

Tony looked down at Steve, eyes tracing over the sweat-darkened hair and bluish shadows under his eyes to where the mask covered his mouth and nose for the machine to force air into his lungs.  He dragged his gaze back up to Thor’s for a long moment, then caught Bruce’s quick look before the other man dropped his eyes.

“You really don’t,” Tony said finally, wrapping a hand around one of Steve’s.  It was warm and heavy where it sat limply in Tony’s.  Nothing had ever felt better or worse, which he knew made no sense, but it was true.  The worst kind of comfort, but the only kind to be had.  He could feel Thor and Bruce watching him, but ignored it.  

Bruce looked like he was going to object, then caught himself, gaze sweeping down and away, not quite an apology, but close enough.  Thor just stared at him, eyes wide and so knowing that it was almost painful.

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again, and forced himself to swallow past the lump in his throat.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, except that he wanted them to both understand and absolutely not speak it out loud.  He blinked against the sudden stinging behind his eyes and looked up, trying to keep whatever emotional breakdown he wasn’t having at bay a little longer, then swiped across his eyes with his other hand and sucked in a shaky breath.  Tony looked down at Steve then, and the rest of them and their thoughts, whatever they were, faded away to background noise, existing only  barely, somewhere in the distance behind the whoosh of air in and out of Steve’s lungs.  

“It was soil, by the way.  Animal, plant and mineral.  Soil.  Just so you know,” Tony whispered, tracing his thumb back and forth across the ridge of Steve’s knuckles.  “That’s the answer.  In case you were wondering.  I’ve always got an answer for everything. You know that.  You don’t know that.  You don’t actually thing that. Maybe you’re the only one who doesn’t expect it, I don’t know,” Tony husked out, watching the way the air ghosted through the mask covering Steve’s face.  “I was trying to be clever.  I do that around you.  Want to impress you, I guess.  Show you how smart I am  Poking at you until you like me, or so I’ve heard.  Stupid, I know.  I should’ve just picked puppy or, I don’t know, freedom or something.  Should’ve done a lot of things--but you—you like it.  You like it, and I don’t know what that means, but I need you to wake up and tell me.  I need you to do that for me, Steve.  I don’t think I can do much of anything else until you do, so.   I’ll just wait.  Until you’re ready,” Tony said breathily, voice shaking so hard he thought the words themselves might break apart. “Then I’m going to give you hell.  Yelling, recriminations, the works.  Just so you know.  Lots of manful tears.  Like Brian’s Song level of manful tears.  Not the first time that’s happened, I know, but you should be ready.  So.  Fair warning.”

“Tony,” Bruce started, then seemed to have nothing else to add when Tony didn’t look up at him. 

“He’s never walked away from a fight.  He’s not walking away from this one,” Tony replied, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face, thumb running rhythmically back and forth over the back of Steve’s hand.  “He wouldn’t do that,” Tony finished with a firm nod. 

The rest of the ride back to the Tower was a blur, punctuated by these seemingly random, but vividly clear moments that Tony would later be able pull out of his memories as time slipped in and out without really grabbing hold.  The huff and hiss of the ATV machine breathing for Steve.  The way something strange and sickeningly desperate swam through his gut every time Bruce hung up another bag of his blood on the IV pole.  The pieces of Steve’s uniform where Bruce had cut it away that looked like they would make good bandages.  In a pinch. 

That fucking bloody footprint. 

Someone should clean that up.

By now, Tony supposed someone had.  Cleaned everything up, silenced the machines, done…something…with Steve’s uniform that bothered him to think about for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words.  It was all gone now, though there was an air of wrongness to that, even though he knew life spiraled on whether it should or not.  Granted, he would probably see those images behind his eyes for years, but they seemed both far removed from him now, almost like things he’d dreamed or made up in his head, and hovering too close, entirely too real, at the same time.  He’d stopped trying to make sense of it.  Seven days.  Seven was supposed to be a lucky number.  Tony decided sometime around the time they fed Steve’s lunch to him through a tube into his stomach that seven was a God-awful number.  Seven days of utter hell, Tony thought dully, scrubbing both hands over his face.  He brought the coffee cup to his mouth, then wrinkled his nose at the tepid liquid, but swallowed it anyway. 

Bruce called it stasis, something like what happened in the ice, which left Tony unable to sleep without the heat ratcheted up, blankets wrapped around himself until he sweated through them, though he never felt warm _enough_ , or not the right kind of warm, but he couldn’t quite shake the cold running through him, so he gave more blood and hoped the cold would leach out of him, too.  It didn’t, but it felt good to do something.  Anything.  Tony didn’t think Steve actually needed the blood now. Crisis over and all that.  But, Bruce didn’t say anything, though his silence probably said plenty these days. 

The other doctors called it comatose and talked about scales and neurological responses, scans and MRIs.  They spoke in hushed tones, as if by saying it quieter, it would help soften the words themselves.  It didn’t, but Tony supposed there was really no good way to speak words that no one wanted to hear, so you might as well do it quietly. 

It was quiet now.  Of course it was.  Everything was quiet here.  All the better to hear the machines.  Wouldn’t want to miss any of that completely useless information they were providing.  Tony was the only one who raised his voice in here.  Hell, maybe the only one talking above a whisper in the whole damn city for all he knew.  They all just stared at him when he did.  God help him, if someone patted him on the back and told him to hang in there again, Tony thought he might give Skynet a go just for shits and grins. 

Tony hated them.  He hated their uncertainty.  He hated their fear, which occasionally skittered across their expressions before they could school themselves.  He hated their answers, couched in phrases like, “There’s just so much we don’t know about the serum,” and “The brain is an extremely complex organ, Mr. Stark.”  He’d done his homework. 

At this point, he probably knew about as much as they did, though Bruce had stopped responding to what he’d started calling, ‘Tony’s Helpful Medical Hints Volume 3,’ somewhere around the memo on proper airway elevation.  At least Steve was breathing on his own now, which was something.  Not much, since breathing was automatic, but it was something.  His organs were healing.  He was getting better.  Improving. Improvement was important.  That’s what all the doctors kept saying.  These were good signs. 

Tony was pretty sure they didn’t have the first fucking clue what they were talking about.  But, Steve wasn’t going to die, so there was that.  Tony had decided that, back on the jet, mainly because he had been incapable of dealing with any alternative.

 In retrospect, Tony felt he really should’ve been more specific with the universe.  Steve wasn’t going to die, but no one seemed ready to say if he was going to live yet.  Seven days of no response of any kind, not spontaneously, not to pain, not to anything.  Seven days of waiting and hoping and being disappointed over and over again until Tony honestly couldn’t say if he even felt anything other than numb to it at this point, like he’d slammed his hand in the car door over and over again until he wasn’t sure if he felt pain on the next slam or just the memory of it.  

It was the middle of the night now, sometime between really late and really early, Tony wasn’t even sure.  The room was dark, save for the too-bright light above Steve's bed that gave off a low buzzing sound that apparently only Tony could hear because no one else seemed to notice.  He wasn’t technically supposed to be here, though he suspected the visiting hours imposed by the so-called experts were more to keep him from annoying them than bothering Steve.  They’d be in soon enough to shoo him out so they could change bags, run more pointless tests and scatter their bag of bones onto the ground in the hopes it told them something useful.  For now, Tony had the chair pulled up next to the bed, his head resting on the mattress next to Steve’s hip, his hand curled around Steve’s because he didn’t seem to know how to let go anymore, if he ever had.  Maybe that was what Pepper had seen, long before Tony ever did, when she’d started distancing herself so slowly, he hadn’t even realized what was happening until he was looking into agricultural land, and she was calling him from Shanghai.

Tony sighed and buried his face against the bed.  The sheets smelled vaguely medicinal, which was impossible, because the bedding was new, and this wasn’t a hospital, but he couldn’t get the scent out of his head.  Camphor and disinfectant over something almost too sweet.  When Steve woke up and got out of here, Tony thought he might take one of the suits for a spin in this room, salt and burn the whole fucking place. 

“Okay.  Twenty questions.  I’ll start,” Tony mumbled, twisting his head to look up at where Steve reclined.  Good angle of elevation, Tony thought, mouth flattening into a thin line.  When had his first thoughts when he looked at Steve turned into these things he didn’t want to think?  “Is it animal, plant or mineral?  Animal?  You don’t say.  Bigger than a breadbox?  Sometimes?  Interesting answer.  Fur-covered?  No.  Okay, let me think.  How many legs?  None.  Well, now you’re just being technical about it.  Tentacles?  You’ve been on the Internet again. I warned you about that.  Don’t tell me about how helpful it is.  You know Clint runs those searches on purpose so Google will auto-fill, don’t you?  Of course you do.  It’s an octopus, and you are not very original, Cap.  An evil Nazi octopus?  Fine, if you want to get political about it.  I still win, which means I get…” Tony stopped and cleared his throat, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment before he forced them open again and stuck his fingers in the door one more time.  “I get…can you just move your hand?  Just a little.  No throwing things, no punching, no hand-jive or God forbid, the Macarena.  Just move your hand a bit for me, Steve.  Please?  Can you do that?  Just move your hand.  Right here.  Feel that?   Can you squeeze my hand?  Come on, Steve.  Please.  Please, just—just a bit. For me.  Please, Steve.”

Nothing happened, which made it predictable, at least, Tony supposed, blinking rapidly against the bitter disappointment that kept trying to claw its way out. He sucked in a shaky breath and wiped the hand not holding Steve’s across his face, swiping away at the moisture there. He wasn’t crying.  Crying would be some kind of admission that he wasn’t ready to make.  He gripped Steve’s hand harder, bringing it up to his cheek, because it was warm and felt like movement, some desperate pantomime of what he wanted.

_Please, Steve._

“You said you weren’t going anywhere.  You promised,” Tony breathed out, voice raw, words so torn apart it was as if they were barely held together.  Maybe they were.  Maybe he was.  Everything felt pulled so thin, so close to tearing in two, that he thought maybe it had already begun fraying and that was why he couldn’t seem to let this go. It might not be there when he came back, like it could slip away when he turned, and that, maybe of all the outcomes, was the thing he couldn’t handle.  “ _You fucking promised me_.” Don't let me be the one who lives, Tony silently beseeched a power he didn't believe in.

 “Fine, so that was one for me.  Now, your turn.  It’s a plant this time.  Yes, you can eat it.  Is it from Star Trek?  Now, Steve, do you really think I’d—okay, fine, yes, it’s from Star Trek, but we never said we were restricted to terrestrial choices.  Let me point out that you picked an animal that doesn’t actually exist in nature, so I think Kaferian apples are fair game—hey,” Tony cut himself off abruptly, sitting up so fast the room spun for a moment before righting itself.  There had been a…a twitch.  Something.  He was almost sure. “Steve?  Steve, can you—can you do that again?” 

He definitely felt it that time.  A slight squeeze of his hand, just the barest press of Steve’s fingers against his, but it was something, then it was something more, as Steve moved his other hand, jerkily grabbing at the wires and leads that flowed in and out of various parts of his body.  Two of the electrodes attached ot his chest popped free, and the IV pole tipped forward before settling back on its wheels again as Tony reached for Steve’s other hand.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.  I’ve got you.  You’re fine.  You’re fine.  You’re gonna be fine,” Tony rambled, words on top of words tumbling out of him.  “Bruce!” Tony shouted, then immediately realized Bruce wasn’t up yet and probably couldn’t hear him through five Tower floors anyway.  He hit the emergency call button instead, then brought both of Steve’s hands together.  “You’re okay, Steve.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.”

Even like this, Steve was probably stronger than he was, but the motion and whatever Tony was babbling about seemed to be enough to calm Steve down.  He was caught between some wild desire to laugh like a maniac and simply break down and sit on the floor in a heap, so did neither, just kept his hands wrapped around Steve’s, repeating some version of assurances over and over.

“Figures that cheating at fucking Twenty Questions is what gets you riled up,” Tony groused.   Steve’s lips moved the barest fraction of a motion, and Tony almost missed it as one of the machines that had come undone in Steve’s struggles beeped insistently that Steve was flatlining.  “What?  What is it, Steve?  Can you say something?  Tell me, Steve. What is it?” Tony asked, leaning his ear over Steve’s mouth to hear. 

Bruce came barreling in the door behind them, out of breath and panicked by the sound of his voice.  “Oh my God, is he—“ Bruce started, eyes going immediately to the machines. 

“No, no, he’s fine.  He’s fine.  God, he’s fine, Bruce.  He’s going to be okay, which is great, because I’m going to need to yell at him.  A lot.  You hear that, Rogers?  A fucking lot,” Tony said with a huge grin. 

“Tony, how do you—he’s—this says—“ Bruce stammered. 

“He moved.  Squeezed my hand when I asked him, then started freaking out, pulling at the wires and stuff you’ve got in him,” Tony explained giddily.  It was adrenaline and relief animating him now, he knew, but it felt like flying.  Better than flying.  It was the moment of acceleration after the freefall, everything snapping back together in an instant.

“That’s great, Tony.  That’s—I mean, yeah, that’s great, but that happens in cases like this.  The limbs may move.  It may even seem purposeful when we—when we want it--I mean we don’t know—“ Bruce began.

“He spoke.  He said a word, Bruce,” Tony laughed.  Or cried, he wasn’t sure.  It seemed to him it was the same thing.

 “Tony, sometimes, patients will say things, and it doesn’t really have to with anything.  Just sort of a spontaneous regurgitation of some past information floating around—look, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.  There is so much about the serum we don’t know.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Tony said, nodding his head firmly.  “He said a fucking word, Bruce.”

“What—what did he say?” Bruce asked hesitantly, looking over Tony’s shoulders to where Steve lay still again against the white sheets that smelled of nothing and death that Tony was going to burn soon. 

“ _Language_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! If you enjoyed any of these, the only way I know that is if you leave a comment and/or kudo. They are writer-food. Very much appreciated.
> 
> Come on over to tumblr and visit: sabrecmc.tumblr.com. Pretty much all Stony with the occasional Star Wars and X-files fangirling thrown in for good measure.


	22. Pin-Ups for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by the absolutely gorgeous artwork done by karadin. Her Steve and Tony pin-ups are truly amazing. Love yourself and check them out on her blog: karadin.tumblr.com. You can also go to her Society 6 shop to see other works and get your own Steve and/or Tony pin-up.

“Really?  This?  This is what you want for Christmas?” Steve asked, voice wavering somewhere between amused and embarrassed. 

“You had something else in mind?” Tony asked as he clicked a few shots on the camera, checking the digital display after each one.  “Friday, lower the lighting five percent.”

“Yes, Boss,” the disembodied voice answered. 

“Not—not really.  Though, now I’m kind of thinking fruitcake,” Steve answered, brow furrowing into a slight frown as he gestured a hand up and down the flag-themed pajama onesie he was wearing.  Blue with stars on one side, red-striped on the other, with a deep V that opened in the front.  “When you said you wanted to take some holiday pictures, this wasn’t exactly what came to mind.”

“Though, in retrospect, aren’t you thinking that it probably should have?” Tony asked with a grin, adjusting his red robe as he walked over to stand in front of Steve.  Tony reached up and adjusted Steve’s dog tags, slowly letting the metal chain slide through where his fingers hovered just above Steve’s skin, close enough to feel the heat, until the tags lay in Tony’s palm over the center of Steve’s chest.  Tony stared at his hand for a long moment, catching the way Steve’s throat bobbed like he was trying to swallow and having a hard time of it, fluttering beat of Steve’s pulse keeping up a staccato rhythm under the corded muscle of his neck.   Under his knuckles, he could feel Steve’s quick intake of breath, and watched in fascination as the skin dappled pink around his hand.

 “Come on, Spangles.  Indulge me,” Tony said, meaning it to be light, but it came out rough and thick. 

“Why do I feel like that about sums up our relationship?”  Steve teased, mouth twisting into a grimace as his eyes flashed sharp and bright at Tony.   “Fine,” he conceded with an exaggerated sigh at Tony’s pleased huff of laughter.  “If this is what you really want…” 

“Oh, I do,” Tony replied, looking Steve over.  “I very much do.” 

Steve sighed and went to sit down on the soft blue sheet Tony had spread out in the middle of their bedroom.  He twisted around and picked up the round pillow done in the design of his shield and held it in his lap, then picked up the small Iron Man plushie and the familiarly-masked teddy bear, giving Tony a long-suffering look.  Steve held up the bear in one hand and the Iron Man in the other in front of him, bouncing the Bucky-bear slightly. 

“I’m not answering to SHIELD or Stark, just like Steve!” he mimicked in a slightly high-pitched voice.  “Well,” Steve continued, whooshing the Iron Man plushie around the bear’s head.  “Have you seen Steve lately, Barnes?  Because it would seem that I can get him to do just about anything I want.”

“My powers of persuasion are not to be mocked, Rogers,” Tony muttered around a smile.  “Now, lie back and think of America,” he quipped, grinning broadly.  Steve did that little half-eye roll, half-sigh thing that meant he was going to do what Tony asked, tossed the stuffed toys to the side and lay down on the sheet, still clutching the shield pillow to his chest.  “Not—no, not like that,” Tony grumbled.  “Here,” he said.  “Pillow behind the head and you—you just, like this,” Tony instructed, putting one hand behind his own head and angling his elbow out. 

“Tooooonnnny,” Steve pleaded, drawing out the word, but he did as Tony demonstrated, pillowing a hand behind the back of his neck.  “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied breathily, mouth suddenly dry.  The position had the benefit of stretching out the onesie’s front opening enough that it left most of Steve’s chest on display.  Tony’s gaze went to the dog tags again, his fingers tingling with remembered heat as his eyes trailed down past the dusky pink nipples, over the expanse of muscles to the fine sprinkle of light hairs that began just above the point of the V.   “Yeah, that’s—that’s good.  Just, ah.  Just lift your right knee up a bit.  Like that.  Good.  You—that’s good.  Now—ah—now, look up here,” Tony said, holding the camera up and out in front of him.  He adjusted one of the flat reflector screens, then stepped up onto the ladder so he could get the right angle.

 “Come on, gorgeous.  Give me a smile.  Don’t be shy,” Tony said, grinning wickedly as Steve dipped his head, then looked up at him from under his lashes.  “That’s it,” Tony encouraged, clicking the camera’s photo button as the flash of light splashed over Steve’s skin.  “God, you’re perfect.  Look at you,” Tony continued, watching Steve’s skin flush, but his eyes were on Tony, managing to be both coquettishly innocent and full of knowing promise at the same time.   “I am the luckiest asshole on the planet, I swear.” 

“What are you going to do with these anyway?” Steve asked while Tony paused long enough to scroll through some of the shots. 

“I don’t know. Coffee mugs, pillows, couple of throw blankets,” Tony mumbled without looking up.

“What?!?” Steve shouted, sitting up quickly, mouth opening, then closing as he caught Tony’s smirk.  “That’s not funny,” he muttered disapprovingly, though his mouth was twitching with the effort not to smile.   

“I could just tell everyone that coffee makes me really, _really_ happy,” Tony replied with a snort of laughter as he climbed down from the short ladder.  “People would actually buy that, come to think.  Okay, beautiful, you’re all done.  See?  That wasn’t so bad.”

“I guess not,” Steve admitted, pushing himself up to a stand. 

“Here,” Tony said, thrusting the camera at Steve’s chest.  “My turn,” Tony said, tugging the knot on his robe loose and letting it slip to pool at the floor.  Steve’s eyes went wide and his eyebrows shot up as he took in Tony’s short red onesie, trimmed in gold, from the open V of the front down to Tony’s Iron Man socks.   “What?  My feet get cold. Come on, just click on the button.  I’ll do the rest,” Tony urged as he turned to walk towards the sheet.  He kicked the shield pillow and stuffed toys out of the way, then bent to pull an Iron Man pillow and Captain America plushie from a nearby basket.

“Uh—“ Steve began from behind him, then stopped, and Tony heard a loud crunching noise, followed by a dull thud.  Tony started to turn, then found himself stopped by Steve’s hands on his waist.  He felt one of Steve’s fingers trace the sliver of skin that peeked from one of the slight gapes on each side of the flap that curved up over his bottom.  Tony sucked in a breath of air, then let it out in a hiss as a shiver ran through him.  Steve’s hands tightened reflexively at his waist, and Tony felt warm breath against the back of his neck.

“Did we have technical difficulties?” Tony drawled with a satisfied smirk.  He peered over his shoulder to where the camera, or what was left of it, was on the floor next to the ladder.  “Feeling a little more enthused about our Christmas project?”

“What can I say?” Steve asked, running the rough pad of his thumb back and forth along the line of exposed skin as his hands lowered to cup Tony’s ass.  “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”


	23. NSFW Fanart for Ch 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Chapter 19's Gift With Purchase Remix Bonus Bonus Chapter (because I am so good with titles), this incredible fanart was done by the amazingly talented selfmadesuperhero. Check out more of their work and find out about commission on tumblr at selfmadesuperhero.tumblr.com.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/L8x0)


	24. Frequency AU

He was six the first time he saw it. 

The radio wasn’t anything like the ones he’d seen before, gifts from some of the military men who wandered in and out of the Stark mansion with their shiny medals, bottles of Scotch and black cases of Things Tony Was Too Young To Understand.  It was a boxy thing, the metal casing painted Army green.  It looked heavy, with its bulky, antenna poking out of the top and the wide, black circles for the mouth and ear pieces.  There were long, jagged scrapes down the sides, dings and scratches marring the paint.  There were four parallel dents next to the press-to-talk button, and Tony wanted more than anything to put his fingers there and see how they lined up in the deep grooves, but, of course, he wasn’t allowed to touch it.

The radio had been Captain America’s, after all.

 Cap had kept it with him the whole time he was in Europe, knocking out Nazis and fighting Hydra with the Howling Commandos, a history which transformed it from useless Army junk to a valuable collectible to something almost magical because Captain America had held it, used it, talked to HQ on it, called for reinforcements or reported on some new plot the Red Skull had brewing. 

There was even a picture of Cap in the middle of the smoking ruin of a Hydra base holding the radio close to his ear, , one of the few pictures of him in the battlefield where he was actually smiling, squinting off in the direction of the photographer, like he’d been caught off-guard.  He’d asked Aunt Peggy about the radio once.   She’d said Cap probably kept it around so he’d know what orders to disregard entirely, and then laughed in that strange way that adults laughed at things that weren’t really funny, throwing her head back, shoulders shaking until she had to wipe tears out of her eyes.  She’d ruffled his hair then and told him he was a lot like Captain America, which wasn’t true, he knew, but it made something wonderful burst warm and wild inside his chest anyway.

Tony was definitely not supposed to touch anything that his Dad kept locked away in the safe.  That had been drilled into his head well enough that it actually stuck.

Unlocking the safe was child’s play.  Literally.  He was eleven when he cracked it, not for the radio, not then, but because he wasn’t supposed to. Howard would hate it, hate this above even the joyride he’d taken in the Rolls that ended up with a broken fountain and a wet Phantom.   He paged through some of the papers inside the safe, boring pages of formulas that clearly didn’t work, spherical schematics of a depleted uranium tamper that he knew worked all too well, drawings of a cube that held his interest for a moment and rolled up reams of nautical navigational charts with various square-shaped grids crossed off in red x-marks. 

It was his third foray into the safe when he finally picked up the forgotten radio, stuck in the back corner of the safe under a stack of faded, yellowing newspapers proclaiming victory in Europe.  Remembered fascination was enough to get him to wrap his fingers into the dents with a wonder he’d thought he’d left behind.  There wasn’t a power switch, but he remembered the picture of Cap with the radio and how the antenna had been pulled up, and something that was part memory, part simply understanding how things worked made him tug the clunky metal rod out until it pointed at the basement ceiling.   

“Hello,” Tony breathed into the mouthpiece as he held the talk button, his lips brushing against the plastic cover where tiny holes would have carried Cap’s voice back to whoever was listening.  A slightly embarrassed laugh bubbled up in him, and, for the first time since he’d crept down here, he looked over his shoulder, like being found doing something silly was somehow worse than what he was actually doing.

Of course, nothing happened.  The thing was long-since broken from damage or age or some combination of both.  Still, he thought, holding the weight of it in his hands.  What must that have been like?  Some pimply-faced radio operator sitting back in some bunker in London switches on his receiver and hears Captain America talking back to him, and is suddenly relaying vital information to the front,  stopping the bad guys, helping a hero, drawn into becoming a part of some grand adventure.  Frodo with his ring of dials, wires and frequencies. 

Eventually, the thrill of a secret rebellion wore off, and he put everything back in its place with significantly less glee than he’d had when he took it out.  It was a bit like opening the big box under the tree and finding a boarding school uniform.   Nothing quite hurt the same way as disappointment. 

The safe had held some kind of talismanic quality for years, but there wasn’t anything here except a past Howard loved more than anything in his present.  It probably shouldn’t have stung so much at that point, but there was something about seeing it all in its withered, sad glory that made it worse.  This, this box of scraps and trash, this was what his father craved, the parts of himself he loved so much he didn’t want Tony anywhere near them. 

His eyes burned for a moment.  Damn dust, he told himself, swiping a hand over them.  He started to push the door of the safe closed, then realized he’d left the antenna of the radio up.  He couldn’t say what made him take it, and later, wouldn’t say, maybe couldn’t quite put it into words, but he bunched up the newspapers and rolls of charts in front of where the radio had been and closed the safe’s door, locking it up again. 

The radio sat under his bed for a few weeks in a box of scraps he’d gathered from Howard’s cast-offs, not exactly forgotten, but now that he had it, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.   Smash it. Sell it.  Tell Howard he’d tossed it in the ocean and watch his eyes bulge out of his head. 

The radio had the singular quality of being something Howard prized that Tony now possessed, and there was some bitter satisfaction in that, but it had been Cap’s, too, and, he was too old to care about that, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually do any of the things he thought about.

 It got to the point that doing something, anything at all, with the damn thing was enough of a victory over childish emotions that he found himself curled on the floor next to his bed, unscrewing the casing and pulling it apart to reveal the vacuum tubes, plug-in crystals, a capacitor and coils looped inside.  Immediately, he could tell that the batteries were corroded, and most of the other parts needed replacing or repairing.  The stuff was so outdated, ancient, really, that fixing it was probably a lost cause.  He tossed it aside, then shoved the pile of parts under his bed.  He had plenty of better things to do with his summer holiday than waste time on a relic.

Getting the batteries turned out to be the tough part.  They didn’t make the particular models anymore, so he’d had to improvise a new contact board to fit against the tops of the updated batteries.   The rest, he’d cobbled together from the bits and pieces of various radios he’d gotten from the Army-Navy depot and then cannibalized.   

It had taken the better part of a month to get everything done, but damn if the thing didn’t hum when he finally closed the casing and pulled up the antenna to its full height.  It worked on the AM frequency, obviously.  He thought he got maybe a mile or so of range, which got him at least off Stark property.  If anyone happened to be toying around with a ham radio set or something, they’d hear him, which was a heady thought, just the idea of it, that he could say something into this thing he’d fixed and someone out there could talk back, someone could hear him, someone new, who would now he existed.  Someone who didn’t know him.  He could be anyone to them. 

A grand adventure.

“Hello,” Tony tried, voice cracking a bit as he pushed down on the talk button, then winced at the sound of his voice.  “Uh, anyone copy? Over.”  That sounded better.  Less amateur.  The radio hissed and crackled with static, and for just that flicker of time, that one, expectant moment, it held so much possibility.

Of course, like everything else in his actual life, reality was something of a crushing disappointment.  Tony stared down at the radio in his hand.  The whole thing suddenly felt incredibly stupid.  Of course, no one was sitting out there listening to a random radio channel.  People had lives and plenty of better things to do.   People who weren’t pathetic losers who spent their time fixing pieces of junk just because of a stupid, little baby fantasy—

“Um, I copy,” a voice boomed back, starling him.  Tony dropped the radio like it was on fire, then blinked at it in a combination of stunned amazement and horror.  “You, ah…you still there?  Over.”

He reached out and picked it up, holding it a bit away from his ear as it buzzed.  “I’m here.  I’m Tony.  Ah…who,” he coughed, mouth suddenly dry.  It had worked.  It had worked.  He had fixed it, and it had worked.  His stomach was churning with exhilaration and a little bit of, not fear, exactly, just a sense of being thrown off-kilter, like that moment when you get as high as you can on a swing and leap off, when you have no choice now but to try to land.  “What’s your name?  Where are you?  What kind of radio are you using?  What’s the range?   Does it use an amplifier?  I thought about maybe adding one, boost the signal a bit, but, um….”

“Whoa, ah.  Wow, okay, well,” the voice chuckled, low and warm, and surprisingly clear, though he couldn’t think of any of their neighbors who sounded remotely like that.  Young, he thought.  Not a kid like him though, but not old like his dad kind of old.  “I’m currently in…let’s say a barn.  I’m using a Gatlin handie-talkie.  Neat thing the boys back home thought up.  Can’t believe they got a wireless I can carry around.   My buddy says I’m probably going to poke someone’s eye out with the antenna, but even he has to admit it’s pretty swell.  Don’t know about a…what did you call it? Amplifier?  The range is pretty limited, depending on the terrain we’re in, but it’s mostly, ah…fields out here.  Oh, and I’m Steve, by the way.  Nice to hear a friendly voice, Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you probably don't remember it, but there was a movie called Frequency that featured a father and son communicating via a cross-time radio link. I thought that was a neat idea for Steve and Tony. I'm not sure what, if anything, I'll do with this, since I have two WiPs going as it is, but the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote something.


	25. Frequency Fanart by ironfries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This amazing fanart was done by the super-talented ironfries. Check out their tumblr at ironfries.tumblr.com and ironfries-art.tumblr.com for info about commissions.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LH61)


	26. Fanart for Hurt!Steve by superfizz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another wonderful work done by superfizz.tumblr.com. This is from Chapter 7's Hurt Steve + Stuck In a Cabin and Chapter 21, which is Tony's POV from that same story.

[](https://www.cweb-pix.com/image/LH6h)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Inside/Outside (the freedom remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507656) by [Robin_tCJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ)
  * [Ради искусства](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544253) by [Riru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riru/pseuds/Riru), [WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018/pseuds/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018)




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